Sine Timore (Without Fear)
by abbyfillion22
Summary: Beckett helps Alexis cope with her symptoms of PTSD caused by her kidnapping while deciding whether or not she wants to move in with Castle.
1. Chapter 1

**To my mom who fights a daily uphill battle with PTSD and still comes up strong. I hope that one day you can once again live sine timore (without fear). I would also like to dedicate this to anyone else that suffers with this disorder. You have to remember that even on the worst days, there is a possibility for joy. –Abby**

* * *

BECKETT's Timore

"You seem to be doing really well, Kate," Dr. Burke says in his familiar deep, rumbling voice that always has made me feel calm.

I nod because it's the truth. I look around the office. The last time I was here, I was in a pretty rough spot. Now that I've bounced back, my surroundings look different somehow; warmer, less intimidating. "I am," I say, "I'm really good right now."

"I'm glad," Dr. Burke drawls. "Castle seems like he's helped you a lot over the past year. How are things with the two of you?"

Now that's a good question. Good? Great? Okay? I debate saying "complicated" but decide it's entirely belated in my vocabulary and it's time to retire it. I think for a moment longer before saying, "Fun."

Dr. Burke gives me a questioning look; anticipating an explanation.

I ponder my choice of adjective. "Fun" seems suiting. "I'm actually having a lot of fun," I respond, "I think for the first time since my mom…" I trail off, not wanting to get into that touch subject because it will only end in tears.

"Good," he understands, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. His teeth are weirdly white and stand out against his dark skin. "That's good."

Heavy silence.

"Anything else?"

I look out the window where the sun is setting behind the skyline. I think about him; wonder if he's thinking about me too; misses me like I miss him even though we'll see each other in an hour's time. "It's scary," I confess. My response surprises even me.

Dr. Burke leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "How so?"

I tear my gaze from the orange-pink-yellow sunset and lock eyes with him. I chew on my thumbnail and focus my attention on the intricate weavings of the rug under my shoes. "I guess because it's a new feeling and new is daunting at first. But…" I pause to push my hair behind my ear only to have it fall right back to its original place as soon as I shift. "It's a good scary."

He nods, scribbling something on his legal pad probably about how I am constantly contradicting myself. He clicks his pen and pokes it through the notebook's spirals until the cap clips onto the curled wire. "How is your relationship with his family?"

I frown.

Dr. Burke turns his palms upwards. "You mentioned Castle has a daughter."

"Alexis," I nod. "We're… we, um…," I struggle, "We get along."

Burke taps his fingernail against his front teeth and prompts me to continue.

"It's more of a cohabitation thing," I add lamely.

"Do you spend time together?"

"I. We. No."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated," I flinch, scolding myself for using the 'C' word. "It's not complicated," I retract immediately.

"It's not."

I feel like I'm playing some sort of made up car trip game called 'Find the Best Adjective' as I wrack my brain for the appropriate word to describemy interactions with Castle's teenage daughter. Awkward, because I'm sleeping with her father, I suppose. I'm grateful that Alexis isn't any younger. Even though I like her, I'm glad she's at college so there's no weird tension if I spend the night at the loft.

There's never been any real beef between us, only the concern for her dad's safety she made known on occasion. And she was justified; it's a dangerous job Castle and I am in and it's been partially my fault when his life is put on the line.

I can't help but remember the day of the bank holdup after I had assured her Martha and Rick would be okay. "They'd better," Alexis had said with an icy death stare that even made me shudder.

Other than that, she's been positively indifferent towards me. It's not like I've made a spirited attempt to get to know her though, I keep forgetting that most of the things I know about her I've heard through Castle's stories. If I were her, I wouldn't really want one of my dad's girlfriends trying to be all buddy-buddy with me.

Reluctantly, Dr. Burke lets me direct the conversation to my rapidly deteriorating-almost nonexistent-PTSD symptoms.

I admit that I stopped taking my daily prescription of Xanax a few months ago when I found my footing with Castle.

Dr. Burke is surprisingly pleased by the news. "Do you feel under control now?"

"I do," I nod. "Xanax just made me groggy and… weak for turning to drugs to cope." I bite my lower lip and finger the rose-gold Cartier bracelet on my left wrist; a gift from Castle for my last birthday. A small heart pendant of the same color hangs on the loop next to the clasp with "Caskett" engraved on one side and "Always" on the other. I rub the heart between my thumb and forefinger.

"How did you manage on your own?" Dr. Burke asks. "This is the first time I've seen you in months."

I grin, turning the bracelet around out of habit. "Him," I reply plainly, sounding like a love-struck teenager straight out of a fluffy Nicholas Sparks novel. "He's helped me more than he knows."

Burke raises an eyebrow. "Have you told him that?"

"No."

"You should."

* * *

CASTLE's Timore

Alexis's mint chocolate chip ice cream sundae sits untouched next to her Genetics 101 textbook and stack of multi-colored binders.

I had made the treat for her as a sort of Trojan Horse for my proposition. Now, it's quickly turning into a sugary, sticky milk and chocolate puddle at the bottom of the frosted dish.

I push it into her peripheral as she flips back and forth from textbook to notes; highlighting here and there in pink marker. Even though she's home on winter break, she's still absorbed in her work.

"Honey, please can we talk about this?" I beg, plucking the cherry off the mound of whipped cream and dropping it in my mouth. The pit gets lodged on my uvula and Alexis has to pound me on the back so I can breathe again. "Thanks," I gasp.

Alexis slides back onto the barstool and props her iPad open to an online science forum Lanie had introduced to her during her internship. "There's nothing to talk about, Daddy," she sighs, tapping the screen with too much force so it zooms in instead of selecting an instructional video. She grumbles to herself and zooms back out. "I told you, do what you want because in the end that's what you'll do anyways-"

"Unless you don't approve."

She sighs and caps her pen. "Daddy, you're a grown man and I think that you're mature enough to make your own decision. Whatever your choice, I'll trust is the best one," she says reasonably.

I frown and poke at the cream that's dripping onto the granite countertop.

A bird flies by outside and its shadow streaks across the opposite wall.

I catch Alexis flinch; her eyes flitting anxiously around the room. Her back is rigid and her hands begin to shake.

"What?" I ask, following her gaze.

She blinks and shakes herself. "Nothing. Look, do what you want, Daddy. I don't get why this has to concern me."

"Because," I say, taking the stool next to her and dipping a finger into the warm ice cream. "You're the two most important women in my life and I want both of you to be happy." I lick the sweetness from my pinkie and push the bowl onto her notebook.

Alexis stares at the pitiful sundae.

I force the spoon into her hand. "What's the matter? Do you not like Beckett?"

"No, I do," she says quickly. She bites her lip and absentmindedly taps the spoon against the counter. "It's just… she spent all those years toying with your emotions and you're just willing to put all that behind you?"

"Yeah," I put simply.

She shakes her head and scans my face. "Why?"

I don't hesitate. "Because I love her."

Alexis exhales and looks at me with pity in her blue eyes. "That's what you said about Gina."

"It's different this time."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I don't," I admit. "But I'm willing to take the risk."

Alexis pauses to tuck her red hair behind her ear. "I'm just afraid you're going to get hurt."

My face falls. It's the same concern my daughter had brought up two years ago regarding Kate but this time, it's worry over my emotional rather than my physical safety.

Sensing my grief, Alexis puts her arm around me. "Does she make you happy?"

"Yes," I reply.

She looks me in the eye. She gives me the blessing I had been pining for this whole time. "Then go for it," she says quietly. "Ask her to move in."

* * *

ALEXIS's Timore

I was slightly shocked when Dad had first asked my opinion of Beckett living with him. I had seen it coming from a mile away yet it still blindsided me.

He's absolutely head over heels about that woman and she's a good influence on him. Ever since they had started dating, Dad seems to have grown up a little. Sure, he still acts like a little kid sometimes, but that's what Kate likes about him; he's innocent and green and even though he has his demons, he doesn't make them known.

I'm pretty sure even Beckett doesn't know some parts of Dad's past yet and I'm slightly proud that I'm the only one he's trusted with this deeply personal information. I doubt he's told the truth about Mom or why exactly he got interested in the macabre. They're both dark stories for different reasons and I'm not sure Beckett will still love him the same way once she knows that side of him. That's what worries me the most; that Beckett likes what she sees now, but when she finally unravels the complex person that is my father, she'll run and leave Dad in pieces that I'll have to pick up.

I was immediately suspicious when Dad made me the incredibly delicious looking sundae. It was a bribe; a cheap one at that. He was looking for my approval and I said that I didn't care. I honestly don't. I don't live at home and I barely see Beckett anyways. Even when I'm at the loft, we don't go out of our ways to spend time with one another. I like it that way; that she respects my space and doesn't try to weasel her way into my life like Gina did.

"Daddy, you're a grown man and I think that you're mature enough to make your own decision. Whatever your choice, I'll trust is the best one," I say to him.

A shadow crosses my line of sight and I jump. I feel my spine become erect and hold my breath until the shadow passes. I can't help but feel a moment of panic; remembering my kidnapping a few months back.

I have a flashback; going back to that day. The dark figures reaching for me; knocking me out, the pain throbbing in the back of my head where they had hit me, waking up in that strange room.

I blink and have to remind myself that I'm safe; that my dad's here and nothing like that will ever happen again.

I steady my shaking hands and try to brush it off.

I can tell that Dad's noticed and I continue the conversation like it's no big deal.

* * *

BECKETT

I leave Dr. Burke's office feeling good about myself. After stopping by my apartment to get clothes for the morning, I decide to make a quick Starbucks run. I pull up to the drive-through and order two tall non-fat lattes with vanilla for Castle and I, an iced chai for Martha, and a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino for Alexis-their favorites. After all, the best way to someone's heart is through coffee.

I balance the cupholder and overnight bag as I search my pockets for my key to the loft. As soon as I locate them, the door opens.

Alexis stands there with an armful of textbooks. "Oh," she says, "Hey Beckett."

"Hi!" Castle shouts from the kitchen. He jogs over and relieves me of the beverages.

"Thanks," I say, giving him a quick kiss.

I drop my bag at my feet and distribute the drinks. "Alexis," I say, "I got you a Cookie Crumble."

She looks surprised that I remembered her usual. "Seriously?" She walks over to us.

I grin. "Seriously."

She deposits her books on the couch and takes the clear cup. "Thanks a lot, Beckett," she says, taking a long sip.

"No problem, sweetie," I say nonchalantly, pulling back the tab on my cup. I notice Castle is beaming at me. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, starting in on his latte.

Alexis positions herself cross-legged on the couch with a book in her lap and sucks down her drink like it's water.

Martha trapsies down the stairs in a pink silk robe. "Hello, Katherine," she says loudly. She gives me an affectionate pat on the cheek. She thanks me when I hand her the chai and then goes to sit with Alexis.

I scoot onto a barstool across from Castle and push aside a bowl of what looks like green and white mush.

"How did it go?" he whispers.

I shrug and take a long sip of coffee. "Fine."

He casts a wary look at the redheads on the couch. "Did Dr. Burke say it's okay to stop taking the medication?"

"I wasn't taking it in the first place," I reply, sensing his distraction.

He looks at the floor. "Oh, right."

I watch him wipe crumbs off the counter and onto the floor; wondering what the point of doing so was.

I set down my cup. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," his automatic reply.

"Castle."

"I'm worried about Alexis," he exclaimed.

I furrow my brow. "Why?" I'm glad to see that we're on relatively the same wavelength.

He picks at the cardboard jacket on his cup. "I think her kidnapping still scares her."

"Understandably," I reply.

"It's not normal… scared, I mean," he persists, "She's jumping at shadows and tenses up at loud noises and…"

I pause, waiting for him to finish, then realize he's waiting for me to. "You think she has PTSD."

He lowers his voice. "I don't know. What do you think?"

I'm flattered that he asked for my opinion but I'm no doctor and I'm not going to cause a scene over an assumption. "I think she needs time to recover."

"It's been a year."

"She needs help," I say instead.

"I'll take her to Dr. Burke."

I frown. "He's not the one who got me through that, Castle. You did."

He seems taken aback by this. "Really?"

I nod. "Really."

He mulls this revelation over. "Wow."

"Now don't go getting a big head about it," I tease.

He looks over at his daughter who's busy explaining her book to Martha. "She needs someone to be there for her."

I look too.

He turns to me. "I think that someone should be you."

Now it's my turn to be shocked. "Why?"

"She respects you," he says quietly. "You have coping experience-"

"It's not my place."

"Make it your place."

"I'm not her mom, Castle," I say forcefully.

This gets him. "No, you're not," he stands up. "But you're the closest thing to one." Leaving me with that seed of thought, he turns, walks into his bedroom, and closes the door.


	2. Chapter 2

ALEXIS'S Timore

I stay awake as long as I can; my library book propped between my legs and the bedside lamp burning into the night. I feel my eyes begin to droop and I shake myself.

I don't want to sleep.

Sleep means dreaming. Dreaming means nightmares.

The nightmares have kept me up for weeks and no matter what I do, I can't stop them from entering my subconscious. They haunt me; tear open the wounds over and over again, bringing fresh memories to the surface.

I reach over my nightstand, past the alarm clock glowing 3:24 AM, past the empty coffee cups and 5-Hour Energy and grab my phone.

I text Marcus, my boyfriend of three months who is spending the break in Bora Bora with his family.

It rings five times before going to voicemail.

_Hi, you've reached Marcus, here's the beep. I hope you know what to do with it._

I throw the phone on top of my covers and rub my eyes with the heel of my hand. Marcus hasn't called since he left and I feel abandoned. I used to call him when I couldn't sleep and we'd talk until I was tired. I never told him the reason behind my insomnia and he's never asked. No one knows the reason I can't sleep but I have a sneaking suspicion that Dad knows.

But of course, he's too hung up with Beckett to be concerned with me.

I open the drawer of the table and come up with a small bottle of pills. I tip two into my hand and swallow them, chasing them with Vitamin Water. My head flops back onto the soft pillow and I pull the covers up over my head, blocking out the light. Soon, I drift off…

* * *

BECKETT

We sleep on opposite sides of the bed tonight; the first time in months. I miss him even though he's within an arm's length away. I wish his arms were around me and his chest were pressed into my back; that I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck.

He's not mad at me, I can tell by his body language; the way he's lying. If he were mad at me, he would be on his side, his back to me.

We're both on our backs, facing the ceiling.

He shifts positions, bringing his knee up so his foot is flat on the mattress and he lets out a long sigh. He, unlike me, can sleep.

I wish I knew what I could do to help Alexis but I don't know what's wrong. I could _ask_ her, but she'd probably just shake me off and say that everything's fine. That's what I did anyways.

Castle's teenage daughter has always been mature for her age, like I was. She's nineteen now, the same age I was when my mom died. Alexis and I are the same in that sense; both more or less motherless. Sure, Alexis has Meredith but she's never around. I remember how much I missed my mom; how alone I felt without her. I bet Alexis misses her mom sometimes; no matter how incompetent of a mother Meredith is.

I really could have used another female in my life then. It would have helped a lot to have someone to talk to. I had my friends, but they never understood. They wanted to go out and party; not talk about my dead mom. There were the boyfriends who never stuck around long after they got what they came for. They weren't up for talking much anyways. My dad disappeared into a bottle. Yeah, having another person to talk to definitely would have helped.

* * *

CASTLE's Timore

I worry about Alexis; like I do every day. She's my baby girl and I won't let anything or anyone hurt her. But it's hard to protect her when the thing that's tearing her apart is her own mind.

I can't say, "Alexis, stop being scared. Don't live in fear of your past." That's like telling someone to stop thinking about purple polar bears. Of course, it will only make them think about it more. Don't think about what's scaring you.

I pretend to sleep while Beckett lies awake next to me.

Beckett, who I was about to ask to move in with me. I still want her to, but Alexis seemed put out by the idea. She's always been the number one girl in my life and I'm not sure how she's handling sharing the limelight with Kate.

Beckett and Alexis have never really connected. Sure, they're friendly but they aren't friends.

I hear Kate turn onto her side and I can feel her eyes on me.

I don't want to talk right now so I let out a convincing snore.

* * *

ALEXIS's Timore

They're coming for me. I'm in my bed, darkness all around except for the bright blue light directly overhead. I squint, looking into the black. I don't see anyone but my heart feels like it's about to explode in my chest. I know they're close. I can feel them; hear them breathing.

Their voices are loud and raspy and cut through the silence like a knife.

I try to escape, but my legs are lead. I'm frozen in place; paralyzed by fear.

Hands form from the shadows and come towards me.

I open my mouth but I can't scream.

I want to yell; to run as fast as I can away from my attackers.

The hands are grabbing me now; pulling at my clothes, my limbs, and hair and I'm powerless against them.

Arms grow from the hands then bodies come into form, then heads. They have no faces.

I can't breathe; I'm suffocated by the faceless men.

I hear someone calling my name but I can't reach them; caught between worlds of reality and hallucination.

* * *

BECKETT

There's a piercing scream and I'm on my feet in a flash.

Castle sits upright and I bolt from the room; gun in hand.

The screaming continues and I hear Castle run into something as he stumbles out of bed. "Alexis!" he yells.

I look around for the trouble. Finding none, I turn to my right where the staircase is. I take them two at a time.

Rick hurries after me and I come to a sliding stop in front of her bedroom door.

I pull on the doorknob but it's locked.

The screams grow louder and more frantic. "No!" Alexis yells. "Please! Please!"

Castle's eyes grow wide. "Alexis! Hold on, sweetie!"

I jiggle the knob again. "Do you have a key?"

He shakes his head no.

I take a step back and kick the wood with my bare foot; sending waves of pain shooting up my ankle into my leg. The door splinters and I kick it again; this time, knocking it off its hinges.

I hurry in; gun at the ready, searching for the attackers.

My gaze finds Alexis, writhing on her bed, covered in sweat.

I holster my gun as Castle hurries to her aide. "Alexis! Wake up, sweetie, you're just dreaming." He shakes her hard but she doesn't wake.

I look at her bedside table where a mixture of coffee cups and energy shots sit empty… and a vial of sleeping pills. "Castle," I say, holding the orange plastic up for him. They're prescribed to her.

"Shit," he mutters, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Wake up," he says desperately slapping her pale cheeks. "Wake up, Alexis, you have to wake up."

I shift from one foot to the other, folding the pill container into my fist. "Grab her arms," I say finally.

He looks up. "What?"

"I'll get her legs," I say, nodding to the bathroom. "Let's get her in the shower."

He puts both of his hands under her armpits and I take her ankles, dragging her out of the sweat-soaked sheets that she's tangled in.

"No!" Alexis screams, her face contorted from whatever it is she's seeing.

Her foot lashes out and it takes all my strength to keep her still.

Together, Castle and I get Alexis into the shower. Fully clothed, he turns on the cold water.

She's slumped against the tub and I crouch over her, gently slapping her cheeks until she comes to.

She flinches and looks around; confused, the freezing rain cutting into her hot flesh.

Castle shuts off the water and gathers his daughter into his arms as she bursts into tears.

"Daddy," she sobs, "Daddy-"

* * *

CASTLE's Timore

"Daddy," my daughter cries into my shoulder. She lets out a shuddering breath. "They-they were coming for me… They had guns and…" she gasps. "I couldn't see their faces. Daddy, I was so scared."

I hold her closer to me and she shakes; partially from the cold water and partially from how terrified she is. "It's okay," I whisper words of comfort into her ear. "You'll be all right. No one can hurt you now. I won't let anyone hurt you."

She grips me and her fingernails dig into my bicep. "Daddy, it was horrible. I-I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. They were grabbing for me and- and I heard you yelling my name but I couldn't reach you. You were so close but every time you got near, the room would stretch and you'd be a mile away again." She shivers.

I can feel the water seeping onto me but I don't care. I look over Alexis's shoulder where Beckett is standing off to the side, examining the pill container. "Thank you."

Beckett nods and gives a sad smile. She kneels down next to us and puts her hand on Alexis's back. "I think you need help, Alexis," she says gently.

Alexis recoils, shoving me off of her. She stands up and wrings out her wet T-shirt. "I don't," she shakes her head, pulling a towel off of the rack and wiping her face. "I'm fine. I don't need a shrink."

Beckett lowers her eyes to the empty container. "Alexis, how long have you been taking these?"

"It doesn't matter," Alexis snaps, tossing the towel into the sink and leaving the bathroom.

Beckett looks at me before following her out.

Alexis throws herself onto the white antique couch in the corner of her bedroom and draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins and staring blankly at the floor. Her wet back turns the fabric of the couch dark.

She sits down next to her and lightly touches Alexis's arm.

Alexis flinches and turns away.

I stand off in the corner and look out the window. The skyline is illuminated by the full moon and I can hear a siren in the distance.

"Alexis," Beckett proceeds with caution. "You have something called post traumatic stress-"

My daughter stands suddenly and crosses the room. "I do _not _have PTSD."

Beckett looks to me for support.

"Alexis," I say. "I think you should listen to Beckett-"

"I can handle it!" Alexis says angrily, sitting on the edge of her bed and crossing her legs. "I have it under control, okay?"

"Sweetheart-" I begin. I've never seen her more _out _of control than right now. I reach out to take her hand but she moves away.

"Don't!" she says, her voice rising an octave. She wipes the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Dad, just don't!"

"Sweetie, you're spiraling down a dark hole that you're not going to be able to climb out of," I say forcefully.

"Rick-" Kate warns at my harsh tone.

I turn to her. "Beckett, I'm not going to let this _disease_ take a hold of someone else I love," I shout. "It was hard enough seeing you go through it and I am _not _going to let it destroy Alexis now too."

"Dad," Alexis stands, grabbing her jacket off of the floor and putting it on. Her voice is congested from how much she's cried. "I'm _fine_."

"No, you're not," I say, "You need _help_."

"DAD," she says with finality. "I. Am. Fine."

With that, she walks out of the room. Seconds later, I hear the front door slam.

* * *

_I remember tears streaming down your face_

_When I said I'll never let you go;_

_When all those shadows almost killed your light._

_I remember you said, Don't leave me here alone._

_But all that's dead and gone and past tonight._

_Just close your eyes_

_The sun is going down._

_You'll be all right;_

_No one can hurt you now._

_Come morning light,_

_You and I'll be safe and sound._

_-_Safe and Sound


	3. Chapter 3

ALEXIS's Timore

I run. I run until I can't feel anything but the burning pain in my legs and in my side. I don't know where I'm going and I don't care. All I know is that I need to escape.

The flaps of my jacket slap my back as I sprint down the sidewalk; passing late-night lovers stumbling in from the bar, the single mother coming back from the graveyard shift, the homeless man looking for a warm place to stay. All of them pass in a blur and I can feel their gazes trained on me.

My feet pound pavement and my breath catches in my throat as I run harder and harder until I can't go any further and have to stop.

As soon as I do, it all comes flooding back: The dark figures reaching for me, tying me up and throwing me into an empty room.

Fresh tears spring up in the corners of my eyes and I brush them away, heaving over a trash can. I can't breathe; I can't comprehend what's going on.

I cry out as another flashback comes, this time sharper and more real.

I turn around in place, hands lashing at men that aren't there.

I collapse against a brick wall and pound my fist into it, over and over. The pain is the only thing that brings me back to reality. It tells me that the pain I feel in my hand is the only real thing that hurts. I turn my fist over; finding the flesh where it had met brick to be red and swollen. I clutch it to my chest like a lifeline as my legs give in.

I fall onto something softer than gravel; what I had expected to land on. I run my hands through it, bringing a handful of the stuff up to my eyes.

It's mulch. I'm at a playground.

I sit up and get my bearings.

I recognize the twisty tube slide to my right, connected to a steel-framed tower. It's the park Dad used to take me to every Sunday when I was little. Subconsciously, I had brought myself here; to a familiar place that holds happy memories. I see myself as a four-year-old girl; holding Daddy's hand and tugging him down the path to my favorite swings.

I stand and make my way out of the park; seeing the sign that prohibits park-goers after 9:00. My gate picks up and I find myself heading back to the loft. After all, where else would I go?

I'm like a sleepwalker; lost in my thoughts. I keep seeing them. Every time a shadow shifts or something moves in my peripheral, I'm taken back to that day; the day of my kidnapping. My breathing picks up and my palms start to sweat, never being able to truly calm down until I know that the shadow isn't my enemy.

I knock into a parking meter as I hear footsteps behind me. I look over my shoulder; expecting an attack. I keep moving.

I can see the loft and all the lights are on. No doubt, Dad's called the police to look for me.

A hand grabs me by the shoulder and I scream.

* * *

BECKETT

"Alexis! Alexis, it's just me, sweetie," I say quickly, seeing her alarmed expression.

"Get away from me," she cries, "Get away from me!"

I realize how dark it is and that Alexis can't see my face. I step into the streetlight and grab her by the wrists so she can't hit me. "Alexis, it's me! It's Beckett, Alexis look at me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Recognition flashes across her face and she immediately calms down. "You scared the hell out of me!" she gasps, her hand flying to her forehead. She begins walking again and I hurry after her.

"Alexis," I say. "I'd been calling your name for five minutes. You didn't hear me?"

Alexis turns around and looks past me. "I guess I have other things on my mind."

My teeth sink into my lower lip. All of her behaviors suggest PTSD: the anxiousness, nightmares, detachment, her need to numb the pain. There's no doubt about it. Now the question is; how to make her accept her condition and the best way to help her.

My voice is hoarse as I begin talking. I make sure to keep my tone soft so as not to scare her any more than she is now. "Alexis, I know what you're going through."

She swallows hard; a lump rising in her throat.

"I know what it feels like," I continue. "to be _scared _all the time. I know what it feels like to be afraid of things that are only real to me."

"You have no idea-" she begins.

"I do," I insist, taking a few steps closer to her. She's shaking from head to toe and probably freezing. Her wet clothes are still plastered to her thin frame. "I know what it feels like," I choke back my tears. "to need to escape from the pain." My tears are for Alexis; someone I genuinely care about who's hurting and I can do nothing about it. "I know what it feels like to feel alone and lost and abandoned. But I'm telling you Alexis," I shake my head once. "you don't have to face this alone."

Alexis begins to turn away from me but she stops before her foot leaves the sidewalk. Her head falls to her chest and I can hear her crying.

I stand behind her and put my arm on her back. "You're not alone," I say. "You have a lot of people who really care about you and want to help."

The teenager puts her head on my shoulder and shudders.

"It's okay, sweetie," I say reassuringly, rubbing her arm. "You'll get through this. I promise."

Alexis nods.

* * *

CASTLE

"That's right," I tell the uniform on the phone. "She's about 5'4", red hair, blue eyes. No, she's hasn't been gone for that long but I'm afraid she'll get hurt."

The uniform tells me that it's too early to file a Missing Person.

"No, you don't understand, this is my _daughter_," I yell. "I know she ran off on her own choosing but-"

I hear the front door open and I toss the phone onto the counter, hurrying out to see Beckett literally dragging Alexis into the loft.

"Oh my God," I sigh with relief, hurrying to help my daughter onto the couch.

"I'm fine, Daddy," Alexis says as I check for cuts or bruises.

I look up at Beckett who straightens her jacket. "She's fine. I found her just down the street."

"Thank you," I say earnestly.

Beckett nods and lets her hair out of its bun, shaking it out and raking her fingers through the tangled curls. She walks quietly into the kitchen and opens the cabinets.

I grab a blanket off of the ottoman and wrap it around Alexis's shivering body. She curls up into a tight ball and lies down on her side; her wet hair sticking to the couch cushion. I sit down in the corner of the L and watch her shoulders rise and fall.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask after a minute.

She shakes her head and her right hand falls off the couch onto the shag rug. She pulls at the fibers. "No right now."

Beckett comes back with three cups of hot chocolate. She gives me a long stare before sitting down at Alexis's head. She puts a hand on her back and helps her sit up.

Alexis accepts the drink, taking a lot sip and returning some color to her pale face.

"Sweetie, how many pills did you take?" Beckett asks, lowering her mug from her lips.

I look from my girlfriend to my daughter then focus my attention on my hot chocolate. Warmth from the liquid seeps through the ceramic mug and spreads through my hands. The whipped cream floating on top is slowly breaking down and mixing into the chocolate. I swirl my finger around in the mug to help it along.

Alexis sniffs and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Only four," she replies quietly. "I took two and when they didn't work, I took two more."

"Okay," Beckett nods. "And how many are you _supposed _to take?"

"One," Alexis mutters.

"Jesus," I groan.

"Castle," Beckett scolds, giving me a _Now's Not the Time_ glare.

I set my mug down on the arm of the couch and walk across the room to the fireplace. I flip a switch and a fire forms on the fake logs.

I take it as a good sign that Alexis is talking to Kate but it's I'm slightly stung that she was so distant towards me. We've always been able to talk about everything.

Beckett and Alexis whisper amongst themselves as I stare into the fire; watching the flames lick the edges of the pit and shoot up in an unpredictable pattern.

I turn around. "You should get some sleep," I say to no one in particular.

"I can't," Alexis states plainly. "Didn't you get that?"

I look to Kate who shrugs.

I nod and shuffle towards them. "I don't want you to be alone tonight. Why don't you go change and then come back and we can have a movie marathon or something."

"Daddy, I'm fine-"

"I know," I say quickly. I've heard the _I'm fine_ thing way too many times to be fooled by it for a second. "I just want to make sure."

Alexis glances at Beckett before heading up the stairs to her bedroom.

"You should go to bed," I say to Kate. "It's late."

Beckett shakes her head and doesn't move. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You have work-"

"I'll call in sick."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't," she says, crossing her arms over her abdomen and propping her feet up on the table. "But I want to."

I stand toe to toe with her, pulling her to her feet and wrapping my arms around her waist.

She puts her hands on my chest and arches her back away so she's leaning onto me for support.

I kiss her, long and softly and I feel her melt in my arms. For a minute, I forget about my need for oxygen and our mouths separate. "You're amazing, you know that?"

She blinks quickly and self consciously pushes her hair behind her ear. It's one of her most endearing twitches and I find it adorable.

I take that moment to pop the question. "I want you to move in with me."

Her lips part slightly and her eyes move right to left over mine like she's trying to read my expression.

"Unless you don't-" I start.

"No, I do," she says quickly, her brows rising.

"But…"

Kate moves away so she's standing on her own. "Alexis is going through so much-"

"Which makes this the perfect time," I point out. "I mean, you're practically here every night anyways."

* * *

BECKETT's Timore

I chew on the corner of my lip and shift my weight from one foot to the other. Keeping my own apartment is my way of having independence; knowing that I'm not relying on Castle 100%. I can always have one foot out the door just in case. If I need my space, I can always go there. But he's right. I think it's been months since I've slept at my own place; there's probably dust on my sheets.

"You don't have to answer right away," he assures me. "It's a big decision."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Okay. I'll think about it."

He looks hopeful.

Moving in means being completely invested in our relationship. I feel like I already am but I can tell that he senses my hesitancy. I've never had a relationship like this before and I'm not sure how to react. My first instinct is to turn tail and run in the opposite direction but I know I could never do that. Despite my commitment issues, I want to be with Castle.

I want to move in with him and get married and "make Castle babies" as Maddie says.

But not now.

Now everything's just all complicated with Alexis. If he had asked me yesterday before all this started, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But Alexis's condition has made me realize that I need to start considering everyone and everything in my decisions. Our relationship affects everything: my friends, our families, my job, everything and I really need to factor in every element or else the scale is going to tip one way and someone's going to be left in the dust.

* * *

ALEXIS

We wind up watching late night television because we couldn't get the DVR working. The loft is pitch dark except for the glow of the TV and the charging light on Dad's laptop in the corner of the room.

Dad has one arm around me and one around Beckett who I think fell asleep a while ago but I can't tell.

A huge fluffy blanket is thrown over us and the combined body heat finally warms me up. I put my head on Dad's shoulder and he tilts his so his cheek is buried in my hair.

We're watching a rerun of Saturday Night Live, a classic Will Ferrell skit. The show ends with the usual credits and Jimmy Kimmel follows immediately after.

The moonlight shifts in the corner of my eye and I jump.

Dad's arm stiffens around me until my heartbeat returns to normal.

"Please give a warm welcome to Stana Katic!" Jimmy says. The crowd applauds as a young actress walks onto the stage and gives the host a hug before sitting in the chair across from him.

"She kinda looks like Beckett," I remark. They have the same wavy hair and bone structure except this Stana person is much shorter.

Dad looks at the screen. "Really? I don't see it."

The actress says something witty and charming as the crowd laughs and applauds her. Jimmy asks her questions about herself and her family. Apparently she speaks six languages and of course, Jimmy asks her to say something dirty.

"Tell me about your production company," Jimmy says after a few more jokes.

Stana pushes her hair away from her face and crosses her legs. "Yes. Sine Timore-"

"And what does that mean to those of us who are monolingual?" Jimmy asks, receiving a big laugh.

Stana laughs good-naturedly. "Sine Timore is Latin for 'without fear'…"

"Sine Timore," Dad repeats. "I like it."

"Fitting," I add.

Dad squeezes my elbow and I smile.

"I love you, Dad," I say quietly.

He kisses my forehead. "I love you too."

* * *

BECKETT

"You look horrible," Esposito remarks as I drag myself into the precinct.

I yawn. "Thanks. That's what every woman hopes to hear." I know I look awful. I didn't have time to put makeup on or do my hair this morning and there are dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep.

He looks at my coffee-less hands. "No Castle today?"

I shake my head as we pass Karpowski's desk. She hands me a file and we keep moving past Gate's office. "He's, ah, dealing with some stuff… at home."

Esposito gives me a knowing smile. "You threw out his back, didn't you? I knew it would be a matter of time-"

"No," I interrupt him. "Nothing like that."

"It's okay, Becks," he smirks. "We all know how aggressive you are."

"Who's aggressive?" Ryan asks, coming back from the bathroom.

I open my mouth to respond.

"Beckett. She threw Castle's back out," Esposito says quickly.

Ryan raises an eyebrow, turning from Javi to me. "Did you, now?"

I glare at Esposito. "_No_. He's at home-"

Espo shakes his head. "Handcuff him to the bed again?" He and Ryan snicker.

I walk away. "You guys are impossible," I gripe.

They hurry after me like dogs with bones which, essentially, that's what they are.

"Okay, okay," says Ryan, sitting on the edge of my desk. "We're sorry. What's he doing at home?"

Esposito settles himself into Castle's chair.

"Ah, it's personal," I say vaguely, shuffling papers. "He's helping with Alexis she's… sick." I grimace. "Sick" isn't exactly the right word.

They don't ask any more questions after that.

"Have you gotten any further with the Watson girl?" I ask.

"No," says Ryan. "We were waiting for you to come to interrogate her."

Lillian Watson is a suspect in our latest case, nineteen years old. We found her two days ago, about to kill herself with the same gun used to murder a fellow student named Cameron Braar. So far, she's chosen to remain silent; a sure sign of guilt. But there's something about her that's not quite right.

She's misguided but she's not crazy, not crazy enough to kill that is. Lillian just seems scared and confused.

I sigh, not really up for an interrogation after last night but I go in anyways.

Lillian is already sitting at the table, her hands cuffed behind her back. I turn to the officer in charge of watching her. "Take those off her," I say immediately. I want this girl to see me as her friend before I need to get down to business.

"She's a danger to herself," says the officer.

"She won't be any trouble," I assure him. "Right?"

Lillian doesn't move, her ashy blonde hair falling in front of her eyes as she stares at her lap.

"She won't be any trouble," I say again.

The officer shrugs. "Okay, your call, detective." He takes the handcuffs off of her.

"Hi Lillian," I say warmly. "How are you today?"

She looks up at me with huge brown eyes.

"Did you talk to the therapist?" I ask. The state had issued her a therapist after her arrest because of her attempted suicide.

Silence.

I open my file and re-read her bio. "I'll take that as a no. Just to be clear, you've been read your rights?"

No reply.

I begin to get irritated. This girl is just wasting everyone's time including her own. "Would you like a lawyer?"

…

"Lillian, we're just trying to get to the bottom of this," I say, my hands clenching under the table. "It's not going to help anybody if you don't cooperate. It looks pretty bad for you right now, you had Cameron Braar's murder weapon in your hand you're obviously not mentally stable. Now, if you'd just talk to the therapist, maybe we can sort this out-"

"I don't need a therapist."

I stop my paper-shuffling and look at her. Lillian's voice is surprisingly steady and calm, not what I had been expecting. "He can help you-"

Lillian's eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head. "I don't trust doctors."

"We have a really good grief specialist here," I begin. "I know you must be upset with Cameron's death-"

"I'm not upset."

"How did you two know each other?"

Lillian clams up.

"Where were you between two thirty and three on Monday afternoon?" When I get no response, I jump right to the chase. "Did you kill Cameron Braar?"

"No."

I nod and for some reason, I believe her. There's no evidence that would lead me to defend her, but I still don't think she's the killer. "Anything else you'd like for me to know?"

She goes back to staring at her lap; her long hair falling in front of her eyes like a curtain. I can tell that she's assumed this hiding position before and she's mastered it.

I nod to the mirror and the officer comes back in. "He's going to show you back to the holding cell. We'll let you know when we find something."

I head out the door and surprised when Lillian speaks up again.

"Thank you," she says, barely audible.

My hand stops on the knob and I look over my shoulder.

The poor girl looks completely defeated, standing in front of the cop with her hands behind her back.

When I'm back at my desk, I realize that I don't know what she was thanking me for.


	4. Chapter 4

ALEXIS's Timore

"My dad wants me to go see a therapist," I tell Marcus, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear while I stir my coffee.

"Why's that?" Marcus asks.

I can tell he's distracted by whatever it is he's multitasking. "Um, I haven't been sleeping well," I respond. For some reason, I'm not ready to tell him what's going on. I don't want him to see me as damaged goods and get scared off.

"Cause I'm not with you?" Marcus says, half teasingly. He laughs. "I haven't been able to sleep without you next to me either."

I twirl a lock of hair around my finger, upset that he isn't taking this seriously. "Sush, my dad's in the next room."

"He can't hear me."

As if on cue, Dad walks into the kitchen. "I have to go," I say quickly.

"Love you-" Marcus says before I hit END.

"Who was that?" Dad asks, going to the fridge to get the carton of milk.

"Mmmm-Maaaggie?" I say.

"Mmmm-Maggie?" he repeats, disbelieving. "Are you sure it wasn't Mmmmmm-Marcus?"

I blush and continue to stir my coffee.

Dad chuckles to himself as he takes a swig straight out of the carton; something he wouldn't dare to do if Beckett were home.

"Why aren't you at the precinct?" I ask, taking the milk from him and pouring a tiny amount into my mug. I pick up my spoon and continue to stir, the metal clinking against ceramic.

He snatches it back, spilling a small puddle onto the counter. He wipes it up with his sleeve. "I thought I'd spend the day with you. What do you want to do? Laser tag?"

I shake my head. I can tell he's avoiding talking about last night and for some reason, it annoys me. "I'm not really up for doing anything today. I'll probably just kill some time online; catching up on my YouTube subscriptions and updating my blog. Boring stuff."

Dad frowns.

I change the subject. "Did you ask Beckett to move in?"

He fiddles with the milk cap. "Yeahhh."

"And?"

"She's thinking about it," he mutters, running a hand behind his neck.

"She's _thinking_ about it?" I say incredulously. I was _sure _that she'd say yes.

Dad shrugs. "Kate's a thinker."

I lean forward on the barstool. "She's _going _to say yes. I mean, how can she not?"

* * *

CASTLE

She can _easily_ say no. Beckett is the _queen _of "no". That's what originally drew me to her; she was the first woman I had met in a long time that denied me and that made me want her even more.

I wonder how she would feel if _I _moved in with _her_; if that would change her decision. She has a really nice apartment that she's spent forever renovating. Her place is so _her_; homey and warm and inviting and she fits right into it. It's just so Beckett-y, down to the neutral color scheme and eclectic artwork.

I compare it to the loft that's almost the exact opposite; modern, sharp, and loud-colored. It makes me realize how stiff she always seems in here; never slouching or making herself comfortable.

"Alexis," I say carefully. "What if I sold the loft?"

Her face falls. "What?"

"Okay, no, forget I said it," I say hastily.

"No, no," Alexis says. "Why do you want to sell the loft all of a sudden? I thought you wanted Beckett to move in."

"I was thinking that maybe I should move in with _her_."

"Oh."

"Would you have a problem with that?"

"No."

"Yes you would."

Alexis rolls her eyes. "It doesn't matter, I've moved out anyways. It's just that I've grown up in this place and I would hate to see it go. It's nice to have a place to crash besides the dorm once and a while."

"Okay," I change the angle. "So I'll keep the loft and move in with Beckett."

"No," Alexis sighs, biting her lip. "That would be dumb to keep paying for it."

I throw my hands up. "Then what do _you_ want?"

"I want what makes you happy."

"I want what makes _you_ happy."

"No, you should want what makes _Beckett _happy," she corrects me smartly. A car door outside slams and I see Alexis let out a tiny yelp, then passing it off as a cough.

I look at her with concern.

She clears her throat and avoids my eye.

"I think you should see a doctor-"

"I don't need a doctor."

"Beckett sees this really nice therapist, Dr. B-"

"I can handle it, Dad. It's all under control." She pushes herself off the stool, her bare feel landing softly on the cold tile floor. She walks upstairs with her coffee.

If Beckett hadn't kicked in her door last night, it would have slammed.

* * *

BECKETT

I stand next to Esposito and Ryan, staring into the glass at Lillian Watson.

"You're the only one she's said a word to," says Ryan.

"But she barely said anything besides she didn't do it."

"That's more than any of us managed to get out of her," Esposito points out. "She's not even trying to defend herself and if she doesn't say something soon, we're going to have to close this."

"You haven't found _anything _else?" I ask, grasping at straws. "There _has _to be something else."

Ryan turns to look at me. "Why are you so invested in this girl? I mean, you're the one who always says to go by the facts-"

"And your gut," I add, "And my gut says that she didn't do it."

"Good luck backing that up," Esposito says.

I grimace as Lillian looks into the glass.

"I'm sure you'll find it," Ryan supports me. "You always do."

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It's a text from Castle with a picture of my apartment he must have taken a while ago because snow is falling outside the window. The caption reads: **Will you move in with me?**

I type a quick response and shut my phone off.

* * *

ALEXIS's Timore

Alone in my room, the fear begins to slowly creep up on me but I won't go back downstairs to see Dad's worried looks. I can't cling to him forever; I need to fix this myself.

Every time I blink and the darkness descends on me for that millisecond, I see the hands that reach for me. Their palms are rough and calloused and their fingernails dig into my skin; tearing me into pieces before throwing me into a cold, strange room.

That's what's the most vivid in my mind; the sheer coldness. Even the memory sends shivers up and down my spine. I stumble across the room, running into a table and then falling to the floor.

My head slams into the wall and I roll to my side; curling up into a ball to protect myself from the faceless snatchers that only exist in my mind. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut which only makes the visions clearer. My mind reels at a million miles an hour; processing everything, unable to push anything down.

I need to escape; to not feel what's going on inside.

I need a distraction; a distraction the equivalent of my sprinting last night, an external pain to take my mind off of the internal ones.

Soon, I find myself sorting hastily through my desk drawer and finally come up with a pair of scissors.

I choke on my tears as I part the blades and bring the sharper point to my lower right arm. I press, softly at first, and then harder until the blade breaks my tender flesh; oozing out red that drips onto my outstretched hand.

My vision blurs and I drag the blade upwards towards my elbow, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

The physical damage feels so much better than the emotional ones. I lift the scissors before I hit the blue vein that's so prominent on my pale skin and make a second cut, this one a little deeper than the first.

I feel lightheaded and I sway, my arm flying out for balance. The slight movement sends sharp jolts up my arm and finally, my nerves kick in again.

I drop the scissors like they burned me and stare at my arm in horror. This isn't me, I'm Alexis Castle, I don't do these sorts of things!

The blades hit the white carpet and bounce once, flipping over until the blades come together, spreading the blood onto the stark fibers.

I clench my teeth together to keep from screaming as I clutch my torn-up arm to my chest, trying to stop the steady flow.

Finally, I have the good sense to go into the bathroom and run my arm under warm water. I crouch down and sit cross-legged in front of my medicine cabinet, sweeping aside boxes of tampons, makeup, and hair products before finding a clear bottle of rubbing alcohol.

My hands fumble as I unscrew the cap and pour the entire contents of the bottle over my arm. It stings like hell but like I had felt while the scissors sliced through my arm, it's a good hurt; a hurt that distracts me from what I've been trying so hard to push down.

The stinging subsides and I wipe my wrist off with a towel before covering the two red gashes with multiple bandages and pulling my sweatshirt sleeve down to hide them.

I stare at myself in the mirror as the tap runs to muffle my cries. Mascara runs down my cheeks and my eyes are bloodshot, redder than my flushed cheeks. I'm so incredibly pale, you can practically see through me. I look like the skeleton of the old Alexis.

I'm not me anymore.

* * *

BECKETT

I go home early, having made no additional breaks in the Braar case. We had pored over every single detail of both Cameron and Lillian's lives, looking for anything that might prove Lillian's innocence. Nothing shook up and everyone was tired so I called it a day.

When I get back to the loft, I'm ready to just kick my heels off and maybe take a hot bath with Rick. I do manage to get my shoes off at the door but then I see Alexis on the couch.

She's sitting in the L corner and staring at nothing.

When the door clicks shut, she jumps, noticing me for the first time.

I toss my jacket onto a hook. "Hey, sweetie, how are you feeling?"

Alexis shrugs. "Fine."

I turn to go into the bedroom and change into something more comfortable before I realize how gingerly Alexis was holding her right arm. I look into the kitchen while watching her out of my peripheral.

She brings her left sweatshirt sleeve up to her nose and sniffs while her right arm hovers above her abdomen. She catches me looking so I shut the bedroom door and strip out of my work clothes.

As I'm searching for a T-shirt, I hear the shower running and go to investigate. I poke my head in the doorway of the private bathroom and knock.

"Hey," Castle says over the rushing water.

"Hi," I sigh. "What're you doing?"

"…Taking a shower?"

"In the middle of the day?"

"I had writer's block."

"Ah," I nod, looking around the cavernous bathroom. He always has his best ideas in the shower.

"Wanna join me?"

"Sure." I take off the rest of my clothing and pull the frosted glass door open, stepping in behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my chin on his shoulder. He always likes to face _into _the water which bothers me. I don't understand how he can have the water pelt his face the whole time and not drown.

"How was work?" he asks, his voice bouncing off of the distressed tile.

"Fine," I mutter into his back, taking in the smell of his body wash.

There's a beat of silence while the water pours down over us, steam beginning to rise in the enclosed space.

"Did you get my text?" I ask about the response I gave him to his question of moving into my apartment.

"No. What did it say?"

"It said maybe."

"Oh."

My hands wander from his waist up to his arms and I finger the tiny scar on the back of his bicep. "You would really want to move into my place?"

"Yes."

"It's smaller."

"It's _cozy_."

"It's only got one bedroom."

"Why would we need more?"

"Selling this place in the real estate market these days would be a nightmare."

"Then I'll sign it over to Mother," he says. "Why are you making excuses?"

"I'm not making excuses," I reply lamely.

"I just don't think you'd be happy living here," he says, turning around to face me. He runs his hands through my wet hair, brushing my cheek slightly with the crook of his finger. "It's not Beckett-y."

"Castle, you can't add a 'Y' to a name and call it an adjective."

"Whoops," he says, fake surprised, "I just did. And it's the best adjective ever. It can also be used as an adverb. Take _that_, Detective."

I go back to the subject at hand. "I think we need to figure out this Alexis thing first, okay?"

He sighs. "Okay. But we'll talk about it soon, right?"

"Of course."

* * *

ALEXIS

I need help. I accept this as I'm changing my bandages and see the red lines decorating my arm. I'm so ashamed of myself for destroying my body like this but every time I think about it, I only feel relief.

I wipe the cuts clean again and wrap them in tape then head downstairs.

I push Dad's door open and see a trail of Beckett's clothes leading to the bathroom and hear the shower running and heavy, frantic breathing.

I roll my eyes as I shut the door quietly and pretend I don't know what's happening.

I flop onto the couch and turn on the History Channel as I wait. It's some documentary on the effects of global warming on the penguin population and I find myself absorbed in it.

They emerge a half hour later, slightly damp and flustered.

"Hey, Alexis," Beckett says nonchalantly, pushing Dad's hand from her waist.

He kisses her on the cheek and goes into the kitchen to make coffee.

"Hi," I mutter. "Can I talk to you?"

Beckett pulls the sash around her black silk robe tighter before sitting next to me. "What's up?"

I sit forward, my elbows on my thighs, matching how she's sitting. "I want to see a doctor."

She looks surprised. "Oh, that's great."

Awkward silence.

"Accepting it is the first step to overcoming it," Beckett says.

I can tell she's avoiding the words because of how I responded to the diagnosis last time.

She picks her cell phone up off the coffee table and scrolls through her contacts. "I'll give you the name of my therapist, Dr. Burke. He's really good. I started seeing him two years ago and he's made such a bid difference-"

"Beckett?"

She stops. "Hm?"

"Thank you."

She smiles and takes my hand, the right one, which makes me wince. She notices my discomfort but doesn't question it. "No problem, kiddo."

"Awww," Dad says, two mugs in hand. "Look at that, my two favorite girls having a moment-"

"Which you're ruining," Beckett points out.

I hide a smile as Dad hands her the cup, his and Beckett's eyes locking for a second when their fingers touch. I'm jealous of their relationship. Somehow, they've found the perfect balance of being friends, partners, and lovers at the same time and I hope that one day, I'll find someone like that for myself.

Beckett gives me Dr. Burke's phone number and I go back to my room to make the call.


	5. Chapter 5

BECKETT

Castle pulls the covers up and slides into bed, a good arm's space away from me. I peek at him from over my book and he focuses on checking his email. After a solid five minutes of silence, I snap the book closed and toss it onto the floor. "Why are you way over there?"

He doesn't look up. "I don't know what you mean."

I gesture to the wide stretch of mattress between us.

He shrugs and turns around to readjust his pillow. "I'm sorry," he says. I note the sarcasm in his tone. "I thought you wanted your space."

My eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Beckett, you know _exactly_ what I mean."

"Is this because I haven't given you an answer about moving in together yet?" I roll my eyes and scoot closer to him.

He moves further away. "It's pretty obvious that you _don't _want to do it yet."

"I never said that!" my voice rising an octave. "Don't _assume _things, Castle. It's a big decision and I want to take my time making it."

"Okay," he says coldly, picking at a loose thread on the sheet.

I crawl closer until I'm pressed against his side and run my hand across his stomach while my mouth inches closer to his ear. He tenses as I take his earlobe between my teeth.

Castle jumps away and winds up tumbling off the bed, landing hard on his back.

"Smooth," I mutter angrily. "So is this your play, Rick? I'm not getting any until I give you an answer?"

He picks himself and his ego up off the floor with as much dignity he can muster. "No, I just don't want to tonight."

He's weak towards me and I know he'll cave if I pursued him but I decide against it; I'm not going to beg. "Fine, y'know what? I'm going to spend the night at my apartment… y'know, since I need my "space"." I put air quotes around space and throw my legs off the side of the bed, collecting my gun and keys from the bedside table.

"Beckett, wait-"

"No, it's fine," I say quickly, putting a jacket on over my T-shirt and leggings. "I need some time to think anyways."

"What about Alexis?"

I pull my hair out from the hood and toss it over my shoulder as I pocket my phone. "What about her?"

"She needs you," he says plainly.

If he had added, _I need you_, maybe I would stay but he doesn't. "She'll be fine." I slide my feet into a pair of sneakers and exit the loft.

* * *

CASTLE

_I really messed up_, is all I can think after Beckett leaves. I took time to mull over the conversation in my head and realized what a complete ass I was.

Immediately, I call her house phone and leave a message. "Hey, Kate, it's me. Look, I'm really sorry about what I said. I was wrong and I should have respected your decision-making process. Take as much time as you need, I want you to choose whatever will make you happy," I pause. "I love y-"

The machine cuts me off.

* * *

BECKETT

"Good evening, Ms. Beckett," says the doorman, Frank.

"Hey, Frank, how are you?" I say warmly. A breeze cuts through the lobby and I shove my hands in my jacket pockets.

Frank shrugs, the gold epaulets decorating his shoulders catching the light. "Can't complain. Can I call you a cab?"

I hesitate. "N-no. I'm just going to take a walk," I tell him.

"Are you looking for Miss Castle?" he asks as he holds the door for me.

"Alexis?" my brow furrows with worry. "She left the building?" I check the time. It's 1:25 PM, what would she be doing out this late at night? I can't see her going clubbing with anyone.

"I don't know," says Frank. "She looked like she was in a hurry, though."

I look up and down the sidewalk outside the building. "Which way did she go?"

Frank thinks for a moment. "Right, I think." He points.

I pull the hood up over my head to block the wind from my ears before turning in the direction he's pointing.

* * *

ALEXIS

My feet slip momentarily on the wet gravel as I make a hard turn down a narrow street, scattering a flock of pigeons.

Lungs burning, I will my legs to move faster until I'm going at a full sprinting pace down the deserted sidewalk. Music blares out of my earbuds and I match my strides to the drumbeat. Moving at this cadence, everything I pass is a blur.

I make a full mile-circle back to the loft and as the familiar building comes into view, I pass someone wearing a grey hoodie who shouts something at me.

Through the music, I can't make out what they said so I keep running towards my home. One of my earbuds pops out and I hear footsteps behind me. I don't dare look back, only run faster.

"Alexis, I'm in good shape, I can keep up with you," Beckett says, coming up to my side.

I slow to a stop and turn my iPod off, bending over with my hands on my knees.

She pulls the hood down from her jacket and puts her hands in her pockets where her phone and keys are. "What are you doing?"

I shrug. "Can't a person run?"

She looks at her watch. "You're pounding pavement at 1:30, by yourself, in New York City?"

I blink and finger the bandages on my arm.

Beckett studies me and something clicks into place. She turns and starts running back the way I came. "Are you coming?" she shouts over her shoulder.

I watch a taxi drive by; its lights out and briefly consider throwing myself in front of it just to see what happens. Instead, I run after her.

It takes me a while to catch up with her because she's an excellent runner. I remember the time Dad went to cheer her on at the Boston marathon. It was a good thing that she was one of the first handfuls of people across the finish that day or else she could have been another casualty. She and Dad always seem to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, to neither of their faults.

"Does your dad know you're out here?" she asks after a minute.

I laugh then cough because I'm out of breath. "What do you think?"

"Definitely not," Beckett concludes.

No, Dad would _kill_ me if he knew I'm out this late by myself. Even though I'm an adult now, he's still over-protective.

We run past dark stores with their neon signs flashing advertisements for $10 mani-pedis, the "best pizza in the city", and fat free cupcakes.

The burning in my legs subsides and I go into that nice phase of complete numbness. I could go miles in this state; feeling nothing at all. But I know that as soon as I stop, all of the soreness will come rushing back at once and I'll probably wind up in shin splints and ankle braces.

Beckett pulls back for my benefit. "Did you set up an appointment with Dr. Burke?" she asks, jogging in place while I catch up.

"Yeah," I gasp, "I'm going tomorrow afternoon." After setting up the therapy session, I had felt a million times better; like I was finally gaining some control again.

We continue down the street at a slower pace.

"Have you told your boyfriend what's happening?" Beckett asks.

"Marcus?" I say, surprised that she remembers who I'm dating. "No."

"You should tell him."

"Why?"

"Because he can help you get through it."

I think about it. "I doubt it… Marcus and I… we're not like you and Dad, let's just say that."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't talk about stuff."

* * *

BECKETT

I almost laugh out loud. Castle and I are the kings of not talking about stuff although we're masters of subtext. "No one's relationship is perfect," I tell her instead. "But if he really cares about you, he'll be there."

She doesn't respond so we head back towards the loft.

I know why Alexis has taken a sudden interest in running; it's a distraction, a distraction from the demons lurking in the shadows of her subconscious. When you run, all of those thoughts disappear. It's one of the many benefits along with killer legs.

"I don't want you sneaking off at night anymore, Alexis," I say. "It's dangerous."

She rolls her eyes. "I know, I know. I just needed to get out of the house for a while."

I nod and slow to a walk as we approach the loft.

Frank smiles. "You found her!"

"Yup," I reply, looping my arm through Alexis's. "Safe and sound."

We take the stairs up to the third floor and I dig my keys out, searching for the right one.

Alexis looks like she wants to say something but she remains quiet, shifting from one foot to the other.

When I get the correct key in the lock, she speaks up. "Does it get any easier?"

I tilt my head and lean on the door. Her question is vague but I understand perfectly what she means. "With time… And ice cream." I push open the door and head straight for the kitchen, digging a gallon of vanilla out of the freezer.

Alexis's smile widens and she joins me for a sundae.

* * *

CASTLE

I hear the front door open then close again and I decide I better get up to see who it is. I find Beckett and Alexis scooping Bryer's in the kitchen, both covered in a sheen sweat.

"What's going on?" I mutter, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Nothing," Beckett and Alexis say in unison.

"What's going on with you?" asks Beckett.

I blink twice to adjust to the light. "Did you get my message?"

She hands the ice cream scoop to Alexis. "What message?" she licks vanilla off of her middle finger, making me shudder. What a tease.

Alexis pauses, looking from Beckett, to me, then at her bowl. "I'm, ah, going to eat this in my room." She puts three scoops into her bowl, drowns it in caramel and chocolate, then heads upstairs, her sneakers squeaking on the tile. "Good night!"

Beckett's eyes don't leave mine as she says good night.

When Alexis is out of earshot, the detective asks, "What did the message say?"

I scratch my nose. "That I'm sorry."

She puts a hand on her hip. "For what?"

"For being a jackass."

She taps her foot against the floor with her arms crossed, debating whether or not his apology was sufficient enough.

"I want you to know," I say carefully. I may be a master of words on a page but when it comes to saying them when it matters most, Beckett leaves me tongue-tied. "That you can take as much time as you want making your decision."

"Damn right, I can."

I hide a smile. She's so cute when she gets angry. "I don't want you rushing to choose and then regretting it later."

Beckett chews the corner of her mouth which she knows drives me crazy with lust. She doesn't meet my eye.

I wait for her to say something and when she doesn't, I break the heavy silence. "I love you?"

She raises an eyebrow.

Since she's decided to remain impassive, I break out the puppy dogs. Tilting my head slightly to the side, I widen my eyes and blink twice, squeezing the corners of my lips together until they turn white.

Kate grimaces and looks over her shoulder.

I bat my eyelashes and turn my head to the side until my ear rests on my shoulder.

She lets out an exasperated sigh and glares at me. "Stop that."

"Stop what?" I say innocently, my lower lip jutting out.

She shifts from one foot to the other and wrinkles her nose, trying to avoid my influential stare. She quickly stands on tiptoe and presses her lips against mine. "I love you too," she mutters before walking away and throwing herself onto the vermillion couch, covering her face with a decorative pillow; ashamed of being so weak towards my puppy-dog gaze.

I chuckle to myself and go to make coffee.

* * *

BECKETT

I make my daily prod at Lillian Watson, visiting her in the tiny holding cell. The uniform on guard slides the metal gate open and I nod to him, indicating that I'll be fine on my own.

He salutes then resumes his post at the end of the hall with a vintage Spiderman comic.

I lean against the door as Lillian looks up from her cot. Her shoelaces and belt have been taken from her and there are no sheets on the bed for obvious reasons. "Hi there," I say casually.

She cocks her head and looks at me curiously as if I'm the one being framed for murder.

"Have anything new to tell me?" I ask, not particularly hopeful.

Her head falls back onto the mattress.

"Fine," I sigh, turning back towards the door. "You know, if you were only affecting yourself, I would leave you alone. But the longer I spend focusing on proving _your_ innocence, the further away I get from the real killer."

This catches her attention and she sits up. "You think I'm innocent?"

I nod.

She shakes her head. "Why?"

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

Her jaw snaps shut.

"All the evidence is stacked against you but I still don't think you did it," I say. "Now, you can help me prove that and you can go or you can make friends with Methhead Joe over there," I point to the cell across from her where an old guy stumbles around his cell, crashing into the wire.

Lillian stares at her lap. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm not being nice," I say matter-of-factly. "I'm just doing my job and you're in my way." Little does she know how tough I am on every other suspect that crosses my path. If I didn't know for a fact that Lillian didn't commit the crime, I would have roughed her up a long time ago in interrogation and made her cave. "So where were you between-"

"Therapy," she interrupts.

It didn't say anywhere in her file that she was seeing a doctor. I take a small pad of paper out of my pocket and flip to a clean page, putting the date in the top left corner. "What's the name of your therapist?"

"Dr. Carter Burke."

The secretary lets Ryan and I into the office without knocking.

Dr. Burke looks up from his desk. "Kate," he says, surprised. "I didn't think we had an appointment-"

I hold up my badge. "I'm here on business." His office looks different when I'm not there to see him personally.

Dr. Burke's face goes stony and he gestures to the two seats across from his desk.

Ryan clutches the recorder in one hand and his badge in the other. He looks nervously around the office.

"This shouldn't take long," I assure Burke. "Do you have a patient named Lillian Watson?"

Burke winces. "According to patient privacy rights, I can't give that information away-"

"Hypothetically," I say quickly.

He scratches the wrinkles in his brow. "Hypothetically, I take patients 18 and older ranging from recovering war vets to abused young women."

Burke sits back in his chair, crosses one ankle over his knee, and folds his hands like I have seen him do a million times before in our sessions.

Ryan scribbles something down and I peek over to see. He's written one word which is _Abused._

"Has something happened?" Burke asks.

"We're just trying to confirm an alibi," Ryan says.

I continue. "Do any of your Abused Young Women patients have misplaced anger maybe aimed towards an innocent third party?"

Dr. Burke pauses.

"Hypothetically," Ryan adds.

He shakes his head. "Nope, just a lot of sadness and mistrust."

Ryan and I glance at each other.

"Do you have security footage in your lobby that we can use to prove one of your patient's innocence?" I ask.

Dr. Burke nods. "There's a bubble in the waiting room. I'll have my secretary show you the tapes."

I stand and Ryan follows in suit, both thanking the doctor for his cooperation.

As we're halfway out the door, Dr. Burke calls out, "Oh, and Detective Beckett?"

I turn, appreciating the barrier he's put between our patient/doctor lives and the professional one.

He gives me a sly grin. "Tell Lillian I said hi."

* * *

ALEXIS

I look up as I hear someone mention Detective Beckett. What the hell was she doing here in the middle of the day?

I groan. Dad must have sent her to make sure I came to my appointment.

Detectives Beckett and Ryan are shown out of an office down the hall by a bald guy with kind eyes.

"Thanks so much for your help, Dr. Burke," Beckett says.

I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand.

As Beckett and Ryan walk through the waiting room, Beckett catches my eye.

To my surprise, she doesn't engage past a curt nod and small wave before moving to the reception desk to talk to the secretary. I crane my neck to listen in.

"Dr. Burke said that you have the security footage for the camera in this room," Beckett says quietly, respecting the time of reflection the patients take before their sessions.

The secretary says something I can't make out and Beckett tells Ryan to stay here while she goes to get the tapes.

Ryan leans up against the counter and runs his hand nervously through his hair, fidgeting once Beckett's gone.

"Why so antsy, Detective?" I speak up.

Ryan jumps and looks around for the source.

I raise my hand.

"Alexis," his brow furrows. "What are you doing here?"

I shrug. "I like the scenery," I joke, gesturing to the very average décor.

Ryan sits next to me and whispers, "I can literally smell the salt of all the tears that've been shed in here."

I make a big show of sniffing.

Beckett comes back with a CD, looking pleased. "Let's go, Ryan," she tucks the disc into the inner pocket of her jacket.

Dr. Burke sticks his head out of his office once more. "Alexis?"

Beckett gives my shoulder a light squeeze as she passes.

"See you at home," I say, getting up and collecting my purse from under the chair.

The detectives depart as I make my way down the short hallway. When I enter Dr. Burke's office, I understand immediately what Ryan meant about the atmosphere. The air is heavy somehow with the stories of the broken, scared, and misunderstood.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the rows of bookshelves stuffed with leather-bounds and certificates. When I had pictured this office, I had anticipated motivational posters, one of those weird lying-down couches, and tissue boxes everywhere. The only part I'm correct about is the tissues. There's one on the windowsill, one on Burke's desk, and two on the shelves.

Burke closes the door tightly and I jump.

"Please, sit," he gestures to one of the chairs.

I hesitate before sinking into the soft cushion while Dr. Burke sits across from me. He takes a moment just to study me.

"Beckett recommended you," I say to break the silence.

"I know," Dr. Burke says, crossing one ankle over his knee and folding his hands over his abdomen. "There's not a lot of Alexis Castle's I've heard of besides from Kate."

Beckett's talked about me in her therapy sessions?

Dr. Burke senses my curiosity. "Don't worry; she's said nothing but positive things about you."

I let out a sigh. "Oh." I grind my teeth together.

Burke leans forwards. "So why are you here?"

Here it goes. "Beckett thinks I have PTSD."

He nods. "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you think you have PTSD?"

I hesitate. "No."

Dr. Burke writes something on his legal pad. "Have you experienced something traumatic in your past?"

"I was kidnapped a year ago."

"Does it still bother you?"

"Yes."

He writes something else then clicks his pen and rephrases his question. "Does it still scare you?"

"Yes."

"Describe what it's like when you think about your kidnapping," he presses.

I pause because even now, the memories are too hard to face. "I've been really on edge lately and shadows make me jumpy…"

"Go on," he urges.

"I dream about it every night; always the same dream," I say. "Faceless men reach out of the darkness to grab me and I'm paralyzed."

Dr. Burke makes note of this. "Anything else?"

"That's about it," I say, wrapping up with a nice bow even though it isn't nearly that simple.

"Do these nightmares keep you up?"

"Yeah. I take pills to help me fall asleep."

He hums as he writes for a full minute. "How do you cope with the memories?"

I think about telling him of the cutting. "I run."

"Running?"

"I just started recently," I say, instinctively pulling at the sleeve covering the scars. "It helps me forget."

He nods. "I'm glad you've found a healthy way to deal with this, Alexis. And I'm glad you've recognized that you need help."

The corner of my mouth twitches. Running isn't the only way I've found helps me cope. As soon as I was alone in my room again and the high from my midnight jog had rubbed off, I went into my bathroom and snapped the blade out of my razor, making minute pinprick cuts on the underside of my arm, adding neighboring scars to the old ones. My skin's beginning to look like a connect-the-dots page.

"From what you're describing," says Burke, "it does sound like you have post traumatic stress disorder."

My breath seizes in my throat as the diagnosis solidifies itself in my mind.

"But you can overcome it if you're willing to put the time in."

I nod and look away as tears begin to sting my eyes.

Dr. Burke turns his head so he's in my line of vision. "Are you ready to work at this, make yourself better?"

"Yes."


	6. Chapter 6

CASTLE

I tap my finger lightly against the space bar and reach my pinkie across the board for the backspace. I do this for a minute, making a space, then deleting it over and over again; the blinking cursor disappearing as I pick up the speed.

Kate comes back into the room after taking a shower, dressed in only one of my button-downs. She slides into bed and takes out her contacts, placing them on the nightstand in the container of solution and putting on her thick-framed glasses. "How's the writing?"

"Good," I say, holding down the space bar and watching the cursor zoom left to right down the page. It's like the world's most boring video game. I wrack my brain for a fresh idea.

She crawls over to me and turns the laptop towards her. "I like it," she says, looking at the blank Word document.

I grin. "Thank you. It's kind of poetic, don't you think?" I put my hand on the white space. "The free page; so open to millions of possibilities, the reader takes a break in the story and is taken out of the world of Rook and Heat, reminded where they are-"

"Okay, Shakespeare," she says, pushing the screen shut and setting the computer on the nightstand. Her hand slides over my lap and she hooks a finger under the elastic of my athletic shorts. I frown and shift away. "Beckett, please, I'm trying to write."

Her hand slides lower. "You can multitask, can't you?"

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard as her fingers find their target.

"Or is this…" Her breath creeps up my neck. "distracting?"

I blink and sneak a peek down the collar of her shirt to the small curve of her breast. "Highly," I mutter.

She takes back her own space on the bed and crosses her legs. "Fine. Tell me about your story."

Really? I consider calling her a tease. "I introduced a new character." The cursor roams over the multi-colored blocks in the top right corner of Microsoft Word and I open the file labeled "Characters". I scroll through the hundreds of different fictitious persons in the world of Detective Nicole W. Heat.

"Her name is Annabelle," I tell her. "She's the prime suspect in Heat's case."

Beckett looks at the character description.

"Her struggle is internal; she battles this second side of herself that occasionally takes over."

"She's has multiple personalities?" she asks.

"Not exactly," I say. "It's more complicated than that. Her memories are so tangible in her mind that she sees them as real. As the story progresses, you find out more and more about her dark past."

"Speaking of," Beckett mentions. "I saw your daughter today."

"Where?"

"Dr. Burke's."

"Good," I say. I'm glad she's getting the help she needs.

Beckett leans against the headboard and ties her hair into a loose bun, a few stray hairs hanging in front of her face. "Have you noticed anything strange about her lately?"

"Besides the PTSD?"

She nods.

"No, not particularly," I say, thinking back to how she was acting this morning; almost like she was normal again. "Why?"

She chews the corner of her lip like she's holding something back. "No reason."

* * *

ALEXIS's Timore

I pull the chord on my bedside lamp and dig out the prescription bottle from under a pile of journals and examine the tiny print on the label. I toss it angrily across the room; hearing the pills clatter against the orange container as they hit the floor.

Dr. Burke said that the Xanax would take the edge off until I learned to control my symptoms myself. It's done nothing but leave me in a fog.

Instinctively, I reach into my desk drawer for my scissors before remembering that I had thrown them out the window after getting back from my appointment. Instead, I opt for a thumbtack that's holding a photo of my friend, Holly, and I jumping off a small cliff into the ocean.

As I tear the tack out, the picture falls to the floor and I bend down to pick it up. About to toss it back onto the desk, I take a minute to examine it. It's a picture we took at sunset in the Hamptons a summer ago. Turning it over, I find a message in glitter pen from Holly.

_Remember this summer? It took me forever to convince you to jump but you were so glad you did! Don't you forget about me when you go off to college. Always live sine timore. Your friend, Holly._

I look from the picture in my hand to the thumbtack. Taking a huge step forwards, I push the tack back into the cork.

Then, I shut out the lights and try to get some sleep.

* * *

CASTLE's Timore

My nose is buried in Kate's thick curls, my fingers interlocked with hers as we lie in the darkness. A dog barks in the distance and a truck rumbles past the building. The glow of the full moon outside the window leaves a beam cutting across our sheet-covered limbs, highlighting the curves in Kate's legs.

The bedside alarm clock beeps once, turning from PM to AM when 11:59 becomes 12.

That's when the screaming starts.

Kate, who I had previously assumed to be asleep, is on her feet in seconds.

I move to get up, much more slowly than her as she shrugs into a robe.

"Stay," she says, pushing me back onto the bed. "I've got her."

I blink rapidly. "Are you sure?"

She pulls her hair out from the back of the fabric and ties the sash, concealing her bare chest. "Go back to sleep."

I nod. I like this new side of Kate. Previously, she would have just let me handle Alexis and tried her hardest to stay out of my family business. But now it seems that she's taken a personal interest in helping my daughter in her time of need and I can never thank her enough for it.

She throws open the door and I hear her light footsteps ascending the stairs.

A minute later, Alexis's screams stop abruptly.

Of course, there's no way I can go back to sleep until I know everything's okay. I throw the covers off of me and begin to pace.

* * *

ALEXIS's Timore

"Alexis!" someone shouts through the dark. "Alexis!"

The bodiless hands descend upon me and my skin erupts in gooseflesh when they touch me.

I try to scream for help but no sounds come out.

"Alexis!" the person yells again.

_I'm here, help me! They've got me!_ I want to say before a hand closes around my mouth. I can't see where the person is who's saying my name but it's familiar and I know they're here to help me.

"Alexis!"

I bolt upright and gasp for breath, my shoulders heaving.

Beckett is sitting on the edge of my bed and I throw my arms around her, so relieved that she's here.

She returns my hug, rubbing my back comfortingly as I cry into her shoulder. "It's okay, sweetie, it wasn't real."

I nod and sit back, my floral sheets tangled around my legs. I find myself soaked in sweat and I rub my forehead, the aftermath of my nightmare quickly disappearing.

Beckett's brow furrows with worry and she pushes my disheveled hair from my face. "Is there anything I can do?"

I swallow hard and shake my head once. "No. I'm fine."

She hands me a glass of room-temperature water and I gulp it thirstily while she examines the Xanax container on my nightstand. "Is this helping?" she asks.

I pull the sleeve of my nightshirt over my scars. "No."

Beckett notices and her gaze briefly lingers on my arm. She carefully replaces the bottle back exactly where she had found it.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I say. I note that she isn't wearing anything under her robe and I hope that I hadn't interrupted anything with my screams.

"Don't be," she says immediately. "Everyone reacts differently."

I groan and rub my raw face. "Does it get any easier?"

"Yes," Beckett replies matter-of-factly. "You just need to give it time. It's not going to happen overnight."

I wonder how Beckett manages to stay so composed 24/7. If I were her, dealing with the stress of her job, I would break down every other ten minutes. It's like she has a shield of some sort that protects her from feeling too much at once. But I'm sure that shield comes down every once and a while.

The detective stands up. "Will you be okay if I go back to bed?"

I nod. "Yes. Thank you." To my surprise, Beckett leans down again and gives me another hug.

"Stay strong," she says quietly as she turns out my light.

The door clicks shut.

* * *

BECKETT

I don't go back to bed.

Instead, I spend the rest of the night-or should I say morning-right outside Alexis's door.

Just in case.

* * *

CASTLE

Kate never came back to bed last night and when I wake up, I'm momentarily confused and worried about where she went.

As I step into the hall, bathed in the warm morning light, I look around to the living room and kitchen which are both deserted.

"Beckett?" I call loudly, my voice echoing around the huge loft.

I pull a shirt over my head and start to climb the stairs, putting my arms through the proper holes as I do.

I find sitting on the floor across from Alexis's room with her knees pulled up to her chest and her forehead in her arms. Her face is covered with a curtain of brown curls as she sleeps and I crouch down next to her.

I bat at her hand that's dangling from her knee. "Beckett."

Before I can register what's happening, she lashes out and her fist makes contact with my windpipe. I fall backwards and land on my side, clutching my bruised throat and trying to breathe.

"Holy shit, Rick you scared the crap outta me!" she says, crawling to my aid.

I gasp and point to my adam's apple, unable to form words. At times like these, I almost wish that I had a girlfriend who had less ninja-like reflexes. Almost.

She pulls my hand away to inspect the damage.

Alexis stands in her doorway. "What's going on?" she asks groggily, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

I pull myself into a more dignified position. "Beckett punched me in the throat."

My daughter tilts her head and looks at Kate. "Why?"

Beckett shrugs. "It was an accident. Castle, don't you know never to wake a sleeping dragon?"

I raise my eyebrows. "I do now!" I squeak.

Alexis disappears back into her room. "Kids," I hear her mutter before the door shuts.

Beckett leans forward and kisses my bruise. "There. All better?"

I pout, pointing to my lips.

She presses her mouth to mine, this one lingering for a moment longer than the first. She's always been the best kisser I've ever met, always leaving me wanting more.

Beckett pulls me to my feet and pushes me gently in the direction of the stairs. "Come on, I'll make you pancakes."

I walk slightly ahead of her and she smacks me on the butt to speed up. "With chocolate chips?"

"If you're good."

* * *

BECKETT

I tilt my head to the side, working out a crack in my neck as Castle hands me my coffee. I curl my hand around my back to reach the knot between my shoulder blades. Sleeping on the floor doesn't do the body much good.

Karpowski sets a file on my desk and I nod to her as she passes by, in a hurry to get her own caffeine.

Castle, seeing me struggle, stands behind me and starts to rub my shoulders, working out the knot with his thumbs.

I let out an involuntary sigh, feeling my body unwind at his hands. I have to pull away or risk having an orgasm in the middle of the bull pen.

Castle picks up his latte and takes his usual seat. "How's the case coming?"

"Good," I reply. "Esposito's working on the security tapes, but I'm pretty positive that it'll clear Lillian's name. It will put us back at square one but at least an innocent person won't go behind bars and the real killer doesn't walk."

Castle nods as Esposito walks briskly up to us, a file in hand. "Her alibi checks out. Watson's being signed for release now."

"Wait," Castle says quickly.

Espo and I look at him.

"You're just going to let her go?" Castle asks incredulously.

"That's how it works," I say. He should know this by now.

"But she's _suicidal_," Castle points out.

My face falls. After we release Lillian, there won't be anyone to keep an eye on her anymore. I look at Esposito who gives me an apologetic shrug.

"She refused treatment," says Javi.

There's really nothing we can do then.

* * *

A heavy weight sits on my chest as I open Lillian's cell and tell her that she's free to go. She hurries past me without a second glance and then she's gone.

"I want a security detail on her," I tell Ryan.

"But Gates-"

"I don't care if it's unethical," I say abruptly. "I'm not going to sit back and watch someone throw their life away."

Castle peers at me.

Ryan nods and goes to put the order.

"Do you really think she'll try again?" asks Esposito.

I stare blankly at the murder board where the case still stays open. I really need to get back to work on it. "She had that look in her eye; that sheer determination that she was just bound to finish what she started." I say between gritted teeth.

I shake my head as I tear Lillian's photo off of the Suspect list and drop it in the trash.

* * *

ALEXIS's Timore

With the ineffective Xanax in my system and the rain pouring down outside, preventing me from running anywhere, I have no outlet. I pile all of my homework on the kitchen counter and jam my headphones on, blasting Pearl Jam to distract myself.

I tap my pencil against my notebook and try to write my report on the psychological effects of the war in Sierra Leone on its victims.

I read an article about a girl named Mariatu who, at age 12, had her hands chopped off by soldiers. She was raped, had her baby before turning 13, then lost her child soon after. Yet somehow, she's managed to move past what happened.

I bite my lower lip. Compared to this girl, what happened to me was _nothing_.

I gasp as I have another flashback and find myself on the floor moments later. Tears fall down my face as I stand and walk over to the sink where I find the knife…

* * *

BECKETT's Timore

"I'm going to go home to check on Alexis," I tell the team during our lunch break.

They nod and I give Castle a quick kiss goodbye, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before leaving. "I'll be back in twenty."

* * *

I push open the loft door and drop my bag next to the coat rack, kicking off my heels in the process. I walk silently across the wood floor in my bare feet to get some orange juice from the fridge.

I spot Alexis at the kitchen sink. Assuming she's doing dishes, I don't react as I open the ice box.

She lets out a shuddering breath and I realize that she's crying. "Alexis?" I step closer to her and that's when I see the blood.

Castle's daughter grips a chopping knife in her shaking hand as her right arm drips red into the stainless steel sink, swirling into the drain. I'm alarmed at how much blood there is and I observe the raised pink lines next to the fresh crimson ones.

My shoulders sag. "Oh, sweetie," I say quietly.

Her lips part and a strangled sob emits from deep within her. The knife clatters into the sink and I grab her right as her knees give out.

I gently lower her to the floor and reach blindly upwards, grabbing the dish towel from the counter.

She cries uncontrollably as I wipe the blood from her arm. I'm at least glad to see that she hadn't sliced into her wrists. She's so pale and fragile in my arms and I'm afraid that if I move, I'll break her.

I turn the blood-soaked rag to a clean corner and wipe away her tears.

Ten minutes later, she's collected herself somewhat to the point that she can for coherent words.

She only says three.

"Don't tell Dad."


	7. Chapter 7

BECKETT

Sitting in the emergency room, I chew my already short-bitten thumbnail and stare blankly at the floor, lost in my thoughts. The light is far too bright, the walls; too white. There's only two other people in the waiting room and all of them have a certain panicked look in their eyes.

An old glass-front TV hangs in the corner near the ceiling, displaying HSN on mute, the black and white captions flashing on the bottom.

My leg jiggles anxiously as the double doors to my left swing open and a plump nurse in purple scrubs and Crocs approaches me, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. Her name is Phoebe, by her nametag. Phoebe glances at her clipboard. "Katherine Beckett?"

I swallow hard and stand up. "That's me."

Phoebe gestures for me to sit. "You signed in for Alexis Castle?"

I nod. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine, don't worry, hon," Phoebe assures me.

A huge weight is lifted off of my chest. I can't imagine telling Rick that his daughter died on my watch.

Phoebe shuffles through Alexis's paperwork. "She needed a couple of stitches; the cuts were pretty deep. The question is, how did this happen?" she looks at me with concern.

"It was an accident," I respond quickly.

The nurse raises her eyebrows. "Was it?"

"Yes. No. Sort of," I fumble. "No. She cut herself."

Phoebe writes something down and shakes her head sadly. "How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know," I realize, "not long, I think." Alexis must have just started recently or else I would have noticed earlier. I had suspected that something was up, but didn't think much of it; just saw her behavior as a normal reaction. "Maybe a week ago?"

"That's what I guessed from her other scars," Phoebe says. "We can't force her into therapy-"

"She's already seeing a doctor," I say, "But not for this. This is just a pitfall of what's actually going on." I scratch my nose and shift uncomfortably.

Phoebe clucks her tongue. "It always is, isn't it?"

I don't respond.

* * *

ALEXIS

I find my fingers sneaking under the tight bandages that cover my stitches and feel the raised bumps. They sting and look hideous but I accept these scars as punishment for what I did to myself. My doctor had said that I was lucky; I nearly cut through a vein. He said it was a close call; if the blade had traveled one more millimeter, I might have killed myself.

Beckett may have just saved my life.

"Don't fidget, hon," says the nurse, coming back with the release papers. She retapes the gauze before giving me a pen to sign.

I quickly scan the documents before scribbling my name and initials on the dotted line.

The nurse gives me a concerned look and I avoid her eye, feeling ashamed. "Make sure you keep those bandages clean and we'll need to see you back to take the stitches out in a few weeks."

I nod and give her back the clipboard and pen. "Thanks."

The nurse shakes her head. "Don't thank me, thank your mom."

"You mean Beckett?" I ask. "She's not my mom." I don't know why, but I don't want anyone thinking that I'm related to Kate.

"She sure acted like it, hon," said the nurse. "She's really worried about you."

"Yeah, well, she can join the club," I say sarcastically, jumping down from the examination table. I pull my jacket sleeve over my bandage. "Can I go now?"

She sighs. "Sure honey."

Thankfully, Beckett doesn't say anything on the drive home and I don't initiate the conversation. There's a heavy, awkward silence between us and I pretend to be texting just to avoid contact.

I keep catching her looking at me out of the corner of her eye though and I turn so I'm facing the side window.

I'm exhausted from the events of the day and I have to drag myself upstairs to the loft, Beckett going ahead then waiting patiently to make sure I'm okay.

* * *

CASTLE

The door opens and Beckett and Alexis trudge in; their heads hung.

I stand up quickly and Beckett nods solemnly to me before taking off her coat. Alexis avoids my eye and immediately tries to escape upstairs. Before she can, Kate nabs her by the hood of her jacket and stops her. Alexis grimaces and positions herself behind Beckett who acts as her shield.

I look between both of them, wondering what the hell is going on. Beckett had left in the middle of the day and never came back and when I came home, neither of them were anywhere to be found.

"What happened?" I ask. "What's wrong?"

Beckett shuffles her feet and clears her throat. "Ah, Alexis has something she wants to tell you." She reaches behind her and pushes my daughter in front of me.

Alexis stumbles before regaining her footing and sending a death glare over her shoulder at Beckett. "Hi, Daddy," she says cheerfully, her voice catching in her throat. She coughs loudly and runs her fingers through her tangled hair.

I look past her at Kate and give her a questioning look.

Beckett mouths something and stares sternly at me, her eyes flitting to Alexis. She jerks her head.

"What's up?" I ask.

Alexis takes a deep breath then rolls up her jacket sleeve; revealing white bandages pinned together with metal clasps. Her nails snap off the clasps and she unravels the fabric and gauze.

I inhale sharply when I see her wrists. They look like something from a horror movie; all stitched and lined with almost-healed cuts in danger of splitting open again with one wrong move. Some of the cuts are older; raised pink and less prominent but others are far worse.

I take her arm gingerly and inspect the damage. "I… how? What?"

Alexis pulls her arm back and wraps it again.

"How did this happen?" I ask, turning to Beckett.

"I cut myself," Alexis says plainly.

My jaw goes slack and my shoulders fall.

"But I won't do it again."

"Damn right, you won't!" I say harshly.

"Castle," Kate warns.

Alexis looks to her for help.

My emotions are so jumbled right now, that I can't sort them out. A mixture of confusion, anger, sadness, fear, and betrayal swirl around my brain and spill out at once.

"Did you know about this?!" I shout at Beckett. She and Alexis have obviously formed some sort of secret sisterhood that I'm not included in and I wonder what secrets she's been keeping.

Alexis crosses her arms. "Daddy, it's not Beckett's fault. She was _helping _me. She took me to the hospital."

Beckett opens her mouth to say something.

"And you didn't think to call and tell me?" I sputter.

"It was kind of short notice," she replies defensively. "Why are you so angry? The important thing is that Alexis is okay-"

I roll my eyes. I _am _glad that Alexis is okay and now that her safety is no longer a factor, I think it's time to confront a few things. "You've been keeping things from me again, Kate!"

"I haven't been keeping _anything_ from you, Rick," she glares. "You think I _knew _about this?!"

"You suspected-"

"Yes, I suspected that something was amiss, but I didn't know _what_."

"Why didn't you talk to me about it?!"

She puts her hands on her hips. "Because I knew you'd overreact and start being paranoid about everything she did!"

"Hey," Alexis interjects.

"I wouldn't have overreacted!" I say.

Beckett rolls her eyes. "Castle, you are the _king _of overreacting."

"Name one time I've ever overreacted!" I stab the air with my finger.

She gestures to me. "Right now! You're overreacting and misplacing your anger at me. Why are you really upset?"

Instantly, I regret yelling at her because she's right; I'm misplacing my anger.

Alexis hums to herself, uncomfortable being stuck in the middle.

I lower my voice and calm down. "I am hurt that you didn't share this with me," I tell my daughter. "I guess I'm used to us sharing everything."

Alexis stares at me. "Daddy, I wasn't going to tell _anyone_. This PTSD thing is really getting to me and Beckett just happens to be there at the right time to help." She fingers her right sleeve where her stitches are. "I know that I need to talk to Dr. Burke about this so he can help me. It won't happen again, I promise." She waits for a response.

I hesitate. "And you're sure that you can handle it now?"

"No," she sighs. "But I'm going to try. I'm going to see Dr. Burke tomorrow."

I'm still not convinced but I'm willing to let it go for one more day, hesitant to even let Alexis out of my sight again.

Alexis rocks back and forth on her heels, glancing from me to Beckett who is still fuming from my outburst. "And while you're here, you might as well talk about why Beckett doesn't want to move in with you," she says quickly.

Beckett's eyes grow wide. "What?"

I tilt my head to the side. "You don't want to move in with me?"

Alexis lets out a nervous laugh. "Okay, bye!" She turns and bounds up the stairs, disappearing into her room and leaving this disaster in her wake.

"I never said that I didn't want to move in with you," Beckett says.

"I know," I resign. "But you don't."

She narrows her eyes and takes a few tentative steps towards me. "What makes you say that?"

"You would have answered me right away if it's what you really wanted," I say. I don't know where I dug that response out from but immediately, I know it's true. I must have buried it in the back of my mind, choosing instead to be patient and optimistic.

She chews the corner of her mouth and stares at my lips. "I do want to live with you…"

"But?"

"Not here."

I blink rapidly. I had expected her to say "not now". "Not here" is a whole different story. I smile. "I agree."

"You do?"

"Yes. I can't imagine you living here. It's not Beckett-y enough."

""Beckett-y" isn't a word, Castle," she mumbles, her hands slipping into mine. "You can't just add a Y to anything you want and call it an adjective."

"I can and did."

"Okay."

"So I'll move in with you."

"No," she sighs. "I can't imagine you living in my apartment either. It's not Castle-y enough."

""Castle-y" isn't a word, Beckett. You can't just add Y to anything you want and call it an adjective."

"I can and did."

"Touché."

Kate squeezes my fingers. "So what do we do?"

I think for a moment. "Let's find our own place!"

"But you've lived here forever," she protests. "This is your home."

"Home is wherever you are." I'm surprised that I came up with such a good line on the spot. Usually I can't think of the perfect thing to say until it's too late.

Her lips curve into a wide smile, flashing her brilliant white teeth before giving me a quick kiss. "Let's move in together."

* * *

ALEXIS

I lay on my stomach on the floor of my bedroom, magazines spread all around me. I eye my backpack regretfully, choosing to procrastinate on a term paper that needs to be done in a week.

I circle a cute sundress in red pen on a page of _Lucky _before tossing it aside.

There's a loud knock on my door and I startle, knocking over the bottle of water at my elbow. My hands immediately begin to shake and I grip the carpet, my nails digging for purchase in the fibers as I try to control my breath, closing my eyes as I count back from 10.

Flexing my fingers sends a fresh wave of pain up my right arm and I gasp.

"Sorry," Dad apologizes, sitting down next to me. "Are you okay?"

I clench my teeth together. 3…2…1. "I'm fine."

"What are you doing?" he asks quietly, pulling an issue of Teen Vogue off the floor and flipping through it.

"Homework," I say immediately.

"Mhmm," he says, disbelieving.

"Where's Beckett?" I ask.

Dad picks up a Cosmopolitan and wrinkles his nose. "Taking a bath."

"How did it go?"

"We're moving in together."

"Really?!" I squeal, throwing my arms around his neck. "That's so great!"

He pats my back and I sit back on my knees.

"What's wrong? Aren't you excited?"

"I am, I'm just worried about you, that's all, sweetheart," he says gently.

I squeeze his arm reassuringly. "I know you are, but I'm getting help. I'm getting better, I've found a better way to cope."

He raises an eyebrow. "How? Not…" He means the cutting.

"No, not that," I say. "I'm joining my school cross country team. Well… I'm going to try out anyways."

He grins proudly. "That's great, sweetheart!"

"Yeah," I smile back, "I've found that running is really therapeutic and as weird as it sounds, it's relaxing. I did some research and there's all these remarkable studies about the mental and physical benefits of running long-distance. I get why Beckett likes it so much."

It's hard to describe, but when I'm pounding pavement, I lose myself and become something external; focusing all of my energy into putting one foot in front of the other. I've never been much of an athlete; always opting for more academic extra-curriculars rather than sports, but running is different.

"And even if I don't make the team, I'm still allowed to train with them and there's this running club that I found that I can join that goes around the city and does all of these cool races like mud runs, zombie runs, night glow 5k…"

* * *

CASTLE

My daughter is back.

I see that spark of determination and light in her eye; the one that tells me that she's happy. I've missed her these last couple of days and I just want to hug her and hold her tight, hoping never to lose her again.

Beckett had said earlier that she had a plan to help Alexis. She hadn't given me details, only that she needed to be alone in the loft for a few hours tomorrow.

Considering that I just flipped out on her, I owe Kate the trust to help Alexis.

* * *

BECKETT

I sink lower in the hot water, submerging my chin so my nostrils are hovering a millimeter above the cherry-scented bubbles.

I curl my toes and crack them, then roll my ankles, listening to the low _POP _under water as they crack. I do the same to my back, twisting left then right to try to loosen myself up, then my neck.

I'm stressed out beyond belief for several reasons. One: I just got back from the ER with my boyfriend's unstable daughter. Two: I've made it my responsibility to help her get better. Three: I've just agreed to move in with Castle; a huge commitment on both of our parts.

Never have I ever had such a mature relationship and truthfully, it frightens me. The closest I've ever gotten to love was with Will and even then, we weren't as serious as I am now with Rick. But I knew that this time would come sooner or later, when we would have to move forwards. Commitment is a fear that I have to face and I'm glad I am going to face it with him: my one and done for sure.

There's a loud knock at the door, interrupting my thoughts.

"Hey, it's me," Rick says, sticking his head inside the bathroom.

My head falls against the edge of the porcelain. "Hi."

He looks around at the candles before stepping in. "Alexis went to bed."

I dunk my head then come back up. "Good. Did she seem okay to you?"

"She seemed fine," he says before taking a long pause. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to yell at you-"

"Castle?"

"Hm?"

"Don't. Just don't."

"I mean it, Kate. I was just mad at everything and…"

"Castle, seriously, it's okay," I sigh, reaching for my wine glass. I take a sip then hand it to him. I run my hands through the bubbles. "Do you want to come in?"

Once he has his clothes off, I move aside and he lowers himself into the water. I wait a moment while he gets comfortable before settling myself against him, my back against his chest, his arms encircling me.

Castle rests his chin on my shoulder and sighs. "Was it this hard for you?"

"Was what this hard for me?"

"PTSD."

"It's different for everyone."

"Yeah, but your experience was _way _more traumatic than what happened to Alexis."

"Who's to judge that?" I ask. "She's a lot younger, things like that are damaging to the undeveloped mind."

"You never cut yourself."

"How do you know?"

"Did you?"

"No."

"But you would tell me if you did, right?"

"Now? Yes. Two years ago? No."

He smiles when I reach back and pat his cheek with a soapy hand.

"Castle, you can't compare us," I explain. "We're two completely different people. Alexis is the same age I was when my mom died and that really stuck with me. It was a fragile point in my life as it was and something like that happening can really throw a wrench in your life."

He nods and buries his nose in my neck, planting a light kiss on my pulse point.

"Do you want to know a secret?" I ask.

"Always."

I take his hand off of my waist and hold it between both of mine. "Two years ago, when the PTSD was the worst, I let it take over my life."

I can tell he's listening intently because he stops moving completely.

"It nearly destroyed me. One night, it got so bad that I decided to drink. I should have known better, should have learned from my dad's mistakes, but I was so desperate for escape that I didn't know what else to do. It started with one drink, which escalated to two, then three. I hadn't planned on getting drunk, just tipsy enough that I could forget. Soon, I had downed the entire bottle but it still wasn't good enough. In fact, the alcohol made it ten times worse. I kept flashing back to that day; to Montgomery's funeral at the graveyard, seeing the tiny glint off of the sniper scope, hearing the shot, feeling the bullet rip through me.

"Somehow, I wound up breaking a glass table and the shards cut open my forearms. The pain made everything seem that much more real; like I was reliving my own shooting. I spent the night cowering in the corner of my apartment, waiting for death to find me. I kept my gun with me the entire time, like it would somehow protect me from my own memory… but you know what kept me sane?"

"What?" he says quietly, his chin rising and falling on my shoulder.

"You."

"Really?"

I nod. "I kept hearing your voice in the darkness, calling my name over and over again, telling me to stay with you… because you loved me."

"I did-I do love you."

"I know. Esposito called me down to storage one day, saying that he had evidence he needed to show me," I swallow. "He had the gun-the sniper that had shot me-and he made me hold it to face my fear. It scared the hell out of me, Castle, but just touching it changed me. Facing that helped me move on with my life."

I know he's interpreted the double entendre when his arms tighten around me.

"I'm glad," he says.


	8. Chapter 8

ALEXIS

"Alexis!"

My eyes snap open and I look around. When I see the figure at the foot of my bed, I'm afraid that I'm in another nightmare but as my eyes adjust, I realize that it's just Beckett. "Wha-what are you doing?" I mumble, looking at the clock. What the hell is she doing in my room at 12:53 PM?

She tosses me a zip-up hoodie, shorts, and my sneakers. "Get dressed," Beckett says.

I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes and groan. "Why?"

Beckett pulls the chain on my bedside lamp and I squint as my pupils adjust to the light. When I open my eyes again, I see that she's wearing her Nike cross-trainers with Under Armour shorts and an NYPD t-shirt. "We're going for a run."

"Why?"

"Because we are."

I grimace and look from Beckett to the clock then flop back onto the bed, covering my face with the pillow. "It's so late."

She yanks the pillow away. "No it's not, it's early. Come on, I have to show you something."

"What?"

"It's a surprise."

I hate surprises. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"Nope," Beckett replies.

Knowing that she won't leave, I grudgingly get dressed. I trudge along a few paces behind Beckett as we make our way downstairs. She's surprisingly lively for 1 AM and I have to jog to keep up with her walking pace. "Where are we going?" I shout to her once we're outside and she starts running down the street. It's chilly out and I pull my jacket zipper up to my neck.

She doesn't respond, only continues in the same direction.

I sigh, looking around the deserted sidewalk before taking off after her.

We make a couple dozen turns down dimly lit streets, going about five miles before Beckett slows to a walk on one particular street. I'm not sure exactly where we are but Beckett has brought me here for a reason.

I catch my breath as we pass under a veranda attached to three sets of brass revolving doors and this is where Beckett stops. My head falls backwards so I can read the sign above the entryway.

_Beaumont Hotel_

My shoulders sag and I begin to shiver.

Beckett stares at me for a moment. "Do you remember this place?"

I nod silently. This is the place I was kidnapped; I remember it like it was yesterday. All of a sudden, the numbness from the run fades and is replaced with terror. Images flash across my vision of those men who dragged me from my room.

I try to control my shaking hands as I quickly look away from the all too familiar doors.

Beckett shakes her head and pushes through the revolving doors, not waiting for me because she knows I'll follow.

The lobby is warm and exactly as I remember it; ornate carpets, over-stuffed couches, wooden tables; eccentric. A few businessmen are talking quietly in one corner of the room, casting glares in my direction for my sloppy attire. Beckett's speaking to the concierge at the front desk and he hands her a card key. She has no idea how often I've revisited this building in my dreams.

She looks over her shoulder at me, standing a safe distance away. Her intentions are becoming clear.

Beckett goes to the elevator and of course, I follow. What else am I supposed to do? I don't know the way home and there's no way I'm staying in the lobby all alone.

I shove my hands deep in the jacket pockets and duck my head, focusing on my even footsteps, trying not to step on the cracks in the tiles.

As the double doors slide closed, I pull the hood over my head and busy myself with the drawstrings.

Beckett casts me wary looks, trying to analyze how I'm handling everything. She taps her foot impatiently as the elevator begins to rise, the tiny black screen above the buttons changing from L to 2 to 3,4,5 until finally, there's a light chime and we're on the sixth floor.

I briefly have time to wonder how she knew what floor exactly I had stayed on previously before she's striding down the hallway.

I look left then right before proceeding, nearly knocking into her as she comes to an abrupt stop in front of room 66.

As Beckett inserts the keycard, I notice that she's gotten the suite number right also. Another thing that bothers me that I hadn't taken note of on my first visit to the Beaumont is that the room I was staying in was suite 66, floor 6; 666. I cringe as I follow Beckett into the dark room.

Before the door is shut and we're left in complete blackness, I catch a glimpse of the room: medium sized, queen size bed, dresser, TV stand, small bar.

Beckett crosses the suite and pulls the curtains across the windows, eliminating even the small amount of light provided by the outside streetlamp and moon.

I hold my hand up in front of my nose and am unable to see it. Immediately, I become frightened. "Beckett, what the hell are we doing here?"

There's no response and I turn in circles, peering into the shadows. My pulse quickens and my forehead breaks out in sweat. I can't take this; it's all too real. I can't face this again. My feet are glued to the floor and my head whips around, my ears straining for the sound of footsteps.

* * *

BECKETT

With the night vision goggles, I am able to see Alexis, but she might as well be blind. I watch as she raises her hand up to her face and she looks confused then angry.

"Beckett, what the hell are we doing here?"

I don't answer because she can't know where I am if my plan is going to work. I silently tiptoe past her towards the door and stop a couple of feet to her left.

Alexis turns in slow circles then I see all of her symptoms take over: her breathing becoming rapid and sharp, her face glistening with perspiration, her entire body trembling. It's something I remember all too well.

I feel terrible, putting her in this awful situation, but I know that it's what she needs to overcome this. The only way I had been able to climb over that seemingly impenetrable wall a few years back was when Esposito had forced me to confront what scared me the most-the sniper-and made me realize that I had no reason to be afraid of it.

Now, it's my turn to do the same for Alexis.

* * *

ALEXIS's Timore

It's ten times worse than the nightmares because I can't wake up. I dig my nails into my palms and eventually find myself scratching at my forearms. Warmth spreads down my wrists and I know I've done damage.

Still, the visions come. The hands reach out, glowing hot white in the dark. They grab onto my shoulders.

Beckett's voice brings me back. "Alexis, it's just me." The hand on my shoulder squeezes gently and I relax, the touch becoming familiar and friendly.

The ghostly hands retreat and are replaced by faceless men, reflected in repeating patterns like a demented kaleidoscope.

My pulse picks up again and my eyes grow wide. They come closer and closer, surrounding me until there's a wall of them spanning in every direction I turn. All of them are brandishing some sort of weapon.

I squeeze my fists until my knuckles lose feeling.

"It's not real," Beckett says from somewhere to my right. "Concentrate on your breathing, keep reminding yourself that whatever you're seeing isn't real."

I exhale. _They're not real, they're not real, they're not real. _And like that, the hallucinations disappear. As Beckett advised, I focus on my breathing, in through my nose, out through my mouth until my heart rate goes back to normal and my muscles relax.

From somewhere outside, a truck door slams loudly and for the first time in months, I don't flinch.

Hot tears fall down my face but they're not of sadness or fear, but of happiness; happiness that I've finally faced my demons.

Beckett flips the lights on and pulls a pair of bulky goggles off of her head, dropping them at her feet.

In seconds, I've crossed the room and fling my arms around her neck. "Thank you," I say.

* * *

BECKETT

I'm taken aback at first but then I return her hug. "No problem, sweetie." She chokes out a strangled laugh of relief and I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you so much," she repeats.

* * *

ALEXIS: Sine Timore

I'm not cured, not 100% at least, but it's a good start. I've broken out of this thick fog that fear has kept me in for the past year and I see everything in clarity as if a veil has been lifted. The world looks so much brighter now; less intense and intimidating somehow. I finally feel completely calm and it's not until now how tense I've been of late. A huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

We walk back out of the hotel and hail a taxi. I'm glad Beckett hasn't suggested running back home because I'm absolutely exhausted.

My eyes droop as I watch the bright lights of Manhattan fly by my window. The night is bathed in a cool mist that softens the edges of everything like a filtered Instagram photo. I see beauty in things I never noticed or appreciated before: the sparkling signs, old crumbling brick buildings that were built before Grams was born, the tiny flashers decorating the crosswalks. I let it all soak into me, experiencing life sine timore.

* * *

I sit outside Dr. Burke's office, five minutes before my appointment when a tall girl with ashy blonde hair sits down across from me, her arms folded defensively across her chest. She looks about my age so I say hello.

She doesn't reply, choosing instead to avoid my eye.

"I'm Alexis."

Silence.

"What's your name?"

She hesitates, looking up at me with her chin downwards as if she's intimidated. "Lillian. Watson."

I grin. "That's such a pretty name."

She tilts her head and stares at me like I've just told her that the aliens were coming to suck our brains out.

We get to talking about this and that; movies we've seen, good books, what schools we go to, what our families are like. When I share that I'm seeing Dr. Burke for PTSD, she tells me about her struggle with depression and her attempted suicide.

I'm surprised by her openness with this information. "It's good you're getting help," I say, "you're not in it alone."

She nods and I bet she's heard that phrase coined by every councilor and concerned adult she knows.

"I read somewhere that they have this hotline that's open 24/7 for people who need help..." I hint.

"Yeah," she says knowingly, "1-800-SUICIDE. It's an easy number to remember."

We go back to talking about less heavy topics and I learn that Lillian loves running too. She was a recruit at her college for the track and cross country team. I'm impressed, knowing how hard it is to get recruited in the NCAA, especially in cross country where there's only room for eight people on a varsity team.

"It's the world's best anger management," she laughs.

I note how pretty she looks when she smiles; something that is masked by her natural frown. "I know, right?" I agree.

Dr. Burke sticks his head out the door. "Alexis?"

I stand up. "We should go running together sometime," I tell Lillian even though there's no way I'd be able to keep up with a college recruit.

Lillian's smile widens. "That would be great."

I return her grin and scribble down my number. "Call me anytime, even if you just want to talk."

She takes the slip of paper and folds it carefully, her eyes never leaving mine.

I take a step towards Dr. Burke. "It was nice meeting you, Lillian."

"Nice meeting you too, Alexis."

* * *

BECKETT: Sine Timore

"That's the last one," Castle says as he sets a cardboard box down on the kitchen table.

The corners of my mouth curl upwards as I look around the apartment-our apartment. The cherry wood floors meet the exposed brick with ornate white trim that Castle had identified immediately as "pre-1920s" during the first walk through with his realtor. The high ceilings are adorned with spotlights surrounding a huge chandelier that illuminates the entire first floor with a soft yellow glow. The kitchen is attached to the dining and living rooms, all connected openly, giving the illusion that the place is bigger than it actually is. An iron spiral staircase leads from the middle of the first floor to the second. The best part by far is the gigantic window overlooking the city that takes up an entire wall in the living room.

There's a mismatch of Castle's furniture and mine along with a few new pieces we had picked out together: my table next to his couch, sitting on top of a flea market rug, my throw pillows, his lamp, an Ikea ottoman, my paintings, his sculpture, new ceramics.

The place is so _us_.

Castle flops down on the couch next to me. "You have a _lot _of stuff."

I smack him playfully. "Shut up, you have more stuff than I do!"

"Oh yeah?" he raises an eyebrow. "I just spent the last hour unpacking six boxes filled with your jackets _alone_. And don't even get me started on your extensive shoe collection…"

I smile as he talks. I absolutely adore him although I would never give him the satisfaction by admitting it. I can't get enough of saying "our apartment" instead of "my" or "your". It's "ours". I've never had an "ours" with anyone before.

The doubts I had before gradually dissolved over the past few weeks as we prepared for this move and disappeared completely once we had gotten here. I think it happened when I saw my books next to his on theshelves. Castle even made an effort to properly shuffle our collections together, making it nearly impossible to tell whose was whose, because, well, they're _ours _now.

It's so strange how something as simple as books can give me such assurance.

* * *

CASTLE

"Are you hungry?" I conclude my rant.

"Always," she replies matter-of-factly.

I reach for my cell. "I'll order in."

Beckett rolls her eyes and laughs. "Castle, we have a perfectly wonderful kitchen and we have yet to use it."

I blink rapidly and look from my phone to her. "So you… _don't_ want Chinese?"

She scoffs incredulously. "Of course I do. What kinda question is that?"

I hide a smile as I place the order, making sure that the delivery boy has our new address, and then toss the phone across the couch. It lands in one of the vermillion cushion crevices and disappears.

Beckett eyes me curiously, waiting for me to say something.

"You know," I mumble, tracing slow circles up her jean-clad thigh. "We don't have to be _cooking _in the kitchen to _use _it." I accentuate "use" with a light pinch.

She jumps but tries to keep her cool even though I can see the excitement in her eyes. "Or," she says, "we could actually cook."

"What fun is that?" I complain, not trying to mask the whine in my voice.

"You have no idea," Kate teases, smacking my hand away. "You've never baked with me before, Castle. It can get pretty…" she lowers her voice, "…messy."

I swallow hard. "Like… dirty, messy?"

"You're the writer," she cocks an eyebrow, "is _dirty _a synonym for _messy_?"

I think about it, browsing through my extensive vocabulary. "Well," I begin, folding my legs Indian-style on the couch and facing her, "according to , synonyms for "messy" are-but not limited to- _chaotic, confused, sloppy, blotchy, careless, disheveled, disordered, disorganized, grimy, grubby, littered, muddled, raunchy-_"

"Raunchy?"

"_-rumpled, slapdash, slipshod, slovenly, unkempt, _and _untidy,_" I ramble off from memory. "But sadly, no, _dirty_ is not one. There's a difference between _messy _and _dirty_. See, a drawer can be messy-or disorganized- but not necessarily _dirty_, per se—"

"Castle."

"Hm?"

"It can get pretty dirty."

"I'll preheat the oven."


End file.
